
F OR 






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NOONS 





Book_^.£L£ 



^ FUN FOR 
FRIDAY AFTERNOONS -^ 

For Scholars of All Ag'es 



A Compilation of Humorous Dialogues for School 
Entertainments 



BY 

CARLETON B, CASE 
w 



SHREWESBURY PUBLISHING CO. 

CHICAGO 






^^^ 






Copyright, 1917, by 
Shrewesbury Publishing Co. 



APR II mr 



©Ci44 60265 " 



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PREFACE 

You find that many a boy and girl who dreads to 
** speak a piece/' at the inevitable Friday afternoon 
rhetorieals^ will sustain a part in a little humorous 
dialogue with eagerness and pleasure. There is action, 
and someone to ** talk back/' It's different from stand- 
ing up alone before your fellows and reciting. Chil- 
dren take to dialogue. Encourage them in it. 

We have styled this collection of school dialogues 
** Fun for Friday Afternoons." We believe scholars 
will agree that the title represents their sentiments ex- 
actly. It is ** fun " to learn a part and act it out, 
especially when the little play is cheerful and full of 
jollity, as those in this collection certainly are. 

The teacher who finds himself and his pupils weary 
of the usual Friday afternoon sameness week after 
week will wish to make use of our dialogue book to 
infuse new interest into the occasion. 



CONTENTS 



Advertising for a Companion 

Arabella's Poor Relations 

Assisting Hezekiah 

At Cross Purposes 

Auction Mad 

Awful Boots 

Elder Sniffles' Courtship 

Fix 

Fourth of July Oration, The 

Gunntown Woman's Association, The 

Ivery Inch a Gintleman 

Jimtown Lyceum 

Josiah's First Courting 

Mrs. Sniffles' Confession 

My Next Door Neighbor 

Unsuccessful Advance, An 

Village Meddler, The 

Will, The 

Wimmin's School of Felosophy, The . 



OYS 


GIRLS 


PAGE 


— 


4 


23 


2 


^ 


131 


^ 




91 


1 




61 


1 




45 


3 




35 


1 




11 


Q 


— 


144 


5 


— 


149 


g 


6 


68 


3 


9 


119 


6 


3 


80 


3 


1 


110 


1 


1 


17 


5 


— 


48 


1 


1 


99 


2 


g 


103 


4 


— 


7 


— 


5 


31 



A WORD TO TEACHERS 

Use special care in the assignment of parts. You 
know your pupils; choose those best adapted to portray 
the several characters to be delineated. 

Be sure that all are perfect in their lines before the 
dialogue is given public presentation. Coach freely at 
the private rehearsals^ as to gesture^ action^ voice^ em- 
phasis, inflection, articulation, position and disposition 
of hands and feet, movement about stage, how to enter 
and exit, facing and addressing audience, and every de- 
tail that makes for a perfect performance. Be elocu- 
tionist, stage manager and property man as well as 
teacher. Remember that in all likelihood your young 
actors have everything to learn about stage matters and 
are dependent upon you to instruct them. 

Have at least two dress rehearsals, and more if 
needed. That means rehearsal in full costume, and 
with all properties, entrances and exits definitely ar- 
ranged, everything as it will be at the public perform- 
ance. 

We will not remind you to be patient; that's part 
of your regular business ! 



A WORD TO THE AMATEUR PERFORMER 

Learn every word of your part thoroughly, and as 
much of the parts of others who are **on'' with you 
as will aid you in coming in with your lines at the right 
place. In other words, learn your "cues'' as well as 
your lines. If your opposite in a dialogue makes a 
bungle of your cue, be prepared to speak your lines at 
the correct place, regardless of that. Keep your head 
and don't get rattled. 

Learn to face your audience, to speak toward them, 
and not to turn your back on them, even to exit. 

Learn where you are to come on stage (your en- 
trance), and where to go off (your exit). There is 
always one right place for this; have it definitely fixed 
before the performance. 

Wherever it reads *'Ha ! Ha !" in a dialogue, it means 
that you are to laugh naturally. The poor writer has 
no other word to express a laugh; but don't you say 
*'Ha! Ha!" Laugh, and keep on laughing, in your 
practice at home till you can do it as naturally as 
though you were '^tickled to death." 

Speak distinctly, articulating your words plainly, and 
gage your voice to reach to the far end of the room 
without becoming loud or boisterous. 

In all matters of stage action, as well as of voice 
and gesture, be guided by your instructor. Presumably 
he knows more about these things than you do. 

Briefly, learn your part perfectly, and then do as 
the stage manager tells you to. 



FUN FOR 
FRIDAY AFTERNOONS 

THE WILL 



CHARACTERS 

Mr. Sjviper^ a Brewer, 

Mr. Currie, a Saddler. 

Frank Millington, A Young Man. 

Mr. Drawl^ a Country Squire. 



Swiper. A sober occasion this, brother Currie. 
Who would have thought the old lady was so near her 
end.^ 

Currie. Ah! we must all die, brother Swiper, and 
those who live the longest only bury the most. 

Swiper. True, true ; but, since we must die and leave 
our possessions, it is well that the law takes such good 
care of us. Had the old lady her senses when she de- 
parted ? 

Currie. Perfectly, perfectly. Squire Drawl told 
me she read every word of her testament aloud, and 
never signed her name better. 

Swiper. Had you any hint from the Squire what dis- 
position she made of her property? 

Currie. Not a whisper; the Squire is as close as an 
underground tomb; but one of the witnesses hinted to 
me that she has cut off her graceless nephew with a 
cent. 

T 



8 THE WILL 

Swiper, Has she, good soul ! has she ? You know I 
come in_, then, in right of my wife. 

Currie, And I in my own right; and this is, no 
doubt, the reason we have been called to hear the read- 
ing of the will. Squire Drawl knows how things 
should be done, though he is as air-tight as your beer 
barrels. But here comes the young reprobate ; he must 
be present as a matter of course, you know. {Enter 
Frank Millington,) Your servant, young gentleman. 
So your benefactress has left you at last. 

Swiper. It is a painful thing to part with old and 
good friends, Mr. Millington. 

Frank. It is so, sir; but I could bear her loss better 
had I not so often been ungrateful for her kindness. 
She was my only friend, and I knew not her value. 

Currie, It is too late to repent. Master Millington. 
You will now have a chance to earn your own bread — 

Swiper, Ay, by the sweat of your brow, as better 
people are obliged to. You would make a fine brewer's 
boy, if you were not too old. 

Currie, Ay, or a saddler's lackey, if held with a 
tight rein. 

Frank, Gentlemen, your remarks imply that my 
aunt has treated me as I deserve. I am above your 
insults, and only hope you will bear your fortune as 
modestly as I shall mine submissively. I shall retire. 
{Going he meets the Squire,^ 

Squire, Stop, stop, young man ! We must have 
your presence. Good morning, gentlemen; you are 
early on the ground. 

Currie. I hope the Squire is well to-day. 

Squire, Pretty comfortable for an invalid. 

Swiper. I hope the damp air has not affected the 
Squire's lungs again. 

Squire. No, I believe not; you know I never hurry. 
" Slow and sure " is my maxim. Well, since the heirs- 
at-law are all convened, I shall proceed to open the last 
will and testament of your deceased relative, according 
to law. 



THE WILL 9 

Swiper {while he is breaking the seal). It is a try- 
ing scene to leave all one's possessions^ Squire^ in this 
manner. 

Currie, It really makes me feel melancholy when I 
look around and see everything but the venerable owner 
of these goods. Well did the preacher say, " All is 
vanity." 

Squire, Please to be seated, gentlemen. {All sit — 
The squire having put on his spectacles begins to read 
in a drawling, nasal tone.) ** Imprimis: Whereas, my 
nephew, Francis Millington, by his disobedience and 
ungrateful conduct, has shown himself unworthy of my 
bounty, and incapable of managing my large estate, I 
do hereby give and bequeath all my houses, farms, 
stocks, bonds, moneys, and property, both personal and 
real, to my dear cousins, Samuel Swiper, of Malt street, 
brewer, and Christopher Currie, of Fly Court, Saddler " 
— {The Squire takes off his spectacles to wipe them.) 

Swiper {takes out his handkerchief and attempts to 
snivel). Generous creature! kind soul! I always loved 
her. 

Currie. She was always a good friend to me, and 
she must have had her senses perfectly, as the Squire 
says. And now, brother Swiper, when we divide, I 
think I shall take the mansion house. 

Swiper. Not so fast, if you please, Mr. Currie. 
My wife has long had her eye on that, and must have it. 
{Both rise.) 

Currie. There will be two words to that bargain, 
Mr. Swiper. And, besides, I ought to have the first 
choice. Did I not lend her a new chaise every time she 
wished to ride ? and who knows what influence — 

Swiper. Am I not named first in her will? and did 
I not furnish her with my best small beer for more than 
six months ? and who knows — 

Frank. Gentlemen, I must leave you. {Going.) 

Squire {who has been leisurely wiping his spectacles 
puts them on, and, with his calm, nasal twang, calls 
out.) Pray, gentlemen, keep your seats. I have not 



10 THE WILL 

done yet. (All sit.) Let me see — where was I — 
aye, ** all my property, both personal and real, to my 
dear cousins, Samuel Swiper, of Malt Street, brewer " 
(looking over his spectacles at Swiper), 

Swiper (eagerly). Yes! 

Squire. " And Christopher Currie, of Fly-Court, 
saddler," — (^Looking over his spectacles at him.) 

Currie (^eagerly). Yes! Yes! 

Squire. " To have and to hold — in trust — for the 
sole and exclusive benefit of my nephew, Francis Mil- 
lington, until he shall have attained to lawful age, by 
which time I hope he will have so far reformed his 
evil ways as that he may be safely intrusted with the 
large fortune I hereby bequeath to him/* 

Swiper. What's all this? You don't mean that we 
are humbugged? In trust! How does that appear? 
Where is it? 

Squire (^pointing to the parchment). There — in 
two words of as good old English as I ever penned. 

Currie. Pretty well, too, Mr. Squire, if we must be 
sent for to be made a laughing stock of. She shall pay 
for every ride she had out of my chaise, I promise you. 

Swiper. And for every drop of my beer. Fine 
times, if two sober, hard-working citizens are to be 
brought here, to be made the sport of a graceless 
profligate ! But we will manage his property for him, 
Mr. Currie ; we will make him feel that trustees are not 
to be trifled with. 

Currie. That we will — 

Squire. Not so fast, gentlemen; for the instrument 
is dated three years ago, and the young man must al- 
ready be of age, and able to take care of himself. Is it 
not so, Francis ? 

Frank. It is, your worship. 

Squire. Then, gentlemen, having attended to the 
breaking of the seal, according to law, you are released 
from any further trouble in the premises. 

Familiar Dialogues. 



ELDER SNIFFLES' COURTSHIP 11 

7 

ELDER SNIFFLES' COURTSHIP 



CHARACTERS 

Widow Bedott, ) t t . 
T^ o } in character. 

Elder Sniffles^ ) 

The widow retires to a grove in the rear of Elder 
Sniffles^ house sits down on a log and sings in a 
plaintive voice. 



W. B. 

What peaceful hours I once enjoyed^ 

All on a summer's day ! 
But O^ my comfort was destroyed^ 

When Shadrack crossed my way ! 

I heerd him preach — I heerd him pray — 

I heerd him sweetly sing; 
Dear suz ! how I did feel that day ! 

It was a dreiful thing! 

Full forty dollars would I give 

If we'd continnered apart — 
For though he's made my sperrit live 

He's surely bust my heart ! 

{She sighs profoundly^ and the Elder advances un- 
expectedly,^ 

TV. B. Good gracious ! is that you^ Elder Sniffles ! 
how you did scare me! Never was so flustrated in all 
the days o' my life ! hadn't the remotest idee o' meetin* 
you here — wouldn't a come for forty dollars if I'd a 
s'posed you ever meander'd here. I never was here 
afore — but was settin' by my winder and I cast my 
eyes over here^ and as I observed the lofty trees a 
wavin' in the gentle blasts and heerd the feathered 



12 ELDER SNIFFLES' COURTSHIP 

singsters a wobblin' their mellaiicolly music^ I felt 
quite a call to come over ; it's so retired and morantic — 
such an approbriate place to marvel round in, ye 
know, vrhen a body feels low-sperrited and unconsol- 
able, as I dew to-night. O, d-e-a-r ! 

E. S. Most worthy Mrs. Bedott, your evident de- 
pression jSUs me with unmitigated sympathy. Your 
feelings (if I may be permitted to judge from the lan- 
guage of your song, which I overheard) — 

TV. B. You didn't though. Elder! the dreiFul suz ! 
what shall I dew! I wouldn't a had you heerd that 
song for no money ! I wish I hadn't a come ! I wish 
to gracious I hadn't a come! 

E. S. I assure you, Mrs. Bedott, it was uninten- 
tional on my part, entirely unintentional, but my con- 
tiguity to yourself and your proximity to me were 
such as rendered it impossible for me to avoid hearing 
you — 

TV. B. Well, it can't be helped now; it's no use 
crying for spilt milk, but I wouldn't have you to think 
I know'd you ever come here. 

E. S, On the contrary, this grove is a favorite re- 
sort of mine; it affords a congenial retreat after the 
exterminating and tremendous mental labors of the 
day. I not unfrequently spend the declining hours of 
the evening here, buried in the most profound medita- 
tions. On your entrance I was occupying my custom- 
ary seat beneath that umbrageous mounting ash which 
you perceive a few feet from you ; indeed, had not your 
mind been much pre-occupied you could scarcely have 
avoided discovering me. 

TV. B. Oh, granf 'ther grievous ! I wish I'd staid 
to hum! I was born for misfortin' and nothin' else! 
I wish to massy I'd staid to hum to-night! but I felt 
as if I'd like to come here once afore I leave the place. 
{She weeps.) 

E. S. Ah! indeed! do you project leaving Scrabble 
Hill? 

TV. B. Yes, I dew; I calklate to go next week. I 



ELDER SNIFFLES' COURTSHIP 13 

must hear you preach once more — once more, Elder, 
and then ^ I'm gwine — somewhere — I don't care 
where, nor I don't care what becomes o' me when I git 
there. (She sobs violently.) 

E. S. O, Mrs. Bedott, you distress me beyond 
limitation — permit me to inquire the cause of this un- 
controllable agony? . t. .j i 

TV. B. O, Elder Sniffles, you're the last mdiwidual 
that ought to ax such a question. O, I shall die! I 

shall give it up ! ,. . . 

E. S. Madame, my interest in your welfare is in- 
tense; allow me to entreat you still more vehemently to 
unburden your mind; perhaps it is in my power to 

relieve you. 

W. B. Relieve me! what an idee! O, Elder, you 
uill be the death of me if you make me revulge my 
feelings so. An hour ago I felt as if I'd a died afore 
I'd a said what I hev said now, but you've draw'd it 

out o' me. 

E. S. Respected madame, you have as yet promul- 
gated nothing satisfactory; permit me— ^ ^ 
TV. B. O, granf'ther grievous! must I come tot; 
Well', then, if I must, I must, so to begin at the begin- 
nin . When I fust heern you preach, your sarmons 
onsettled my faith; but after a spell I was convinced 
by ver argefyin', and gin up my 'roneus notions, and 
my mind got considerable carm. But how could I set 
Sabberday after Sabberday under the droppin's o' 
yer voice, and not begin to feel a mor'n ordinary inter- 
est in the speaker? I indevored not tew, but I couldn't 
help it; 'twas in vain to struggle against the feelin's 
that prepossest my buzzom. But it's all over with me 
now ! my f elicitude is at an end ; my sittiwation is hope- 
less ! I shall go back to Wiggleton next week, and 
never truble you no more. 

E. S, Ah, Mrs. Bedott, you alarm — 
W. B, Yes, you never'll see no more truble with 
Prissilly. I'm agwine back to Wiggleton. Can't bear 
to go back thar, nother, on account o' the indiwiddu- 



U ELDER SNIFFLES' COURTSHIP 

als that I come away to git rid of. There's Cappen 
Canoot^ he's always been after me ever since my hus- 
band died, though I hain't never gin him no incur- 
ridgement — but he won't take no for an answer. I 
dread the critter's attentions. And 'Squire Bailey — 
he's wonderful rich — but that ain't no recommenda- 
tion to me, and I've told him so time and agin, but I 
s'pose he thinks I'll come round bumby. And Deacon 
Crosby, he lost his partner a spell afore I come away; 
he was very much pleased with me; he's a wonderful 
fine man — make a fust-rate husband, I kind o' hes- 
itated when he promulgated his sentiments tew me, 
told him I'd think on't till I cum back — s'pose he'll 
be at me as soon as I git there. I hate to disappoint 
Deacon Crosby, he's such a fine man, and my dezeased 
companion sot so much by him, but then I don't feel 
for him as I dew for — . He's a Presbyterian, tew, 
and I don't think 'twould be right to unite my destina- 
tion to hisen. 

E. S. Undoubtedly in your present state of feel- 
ing, the uncongeniality would render a union — 

TV. B. O, dear, dear, dear! I can't bear to go 
back there and indure their attentions, but, thank for- 
tune, they won't bother me long — I shall go into a de- 
cline, I know I shall, as well as I want to know it. 
My trubles'U soon be over — undoubtedly they'll put 
up a monnyment to my memory — I've got the de- 
scription all ready for it — it says : 

Here sleeps Prissilly P. Bedott, 

Late relic of Hezekier, 
How mellancoUy was her lot! 

How soon she did expire! 

She didn't commit self-suicide, 

'Twas tribbilation killed her; 
O, what a pity she hadn't a died 

Afore she saw the Elder! 



ELDER SNIFFLES' COURTSHIP 15 

And O^ Elder^ you'll visit my grave^ won't ye^ and 
shed tew or three tears over it? 'Twould be a conso- 
lation tew me tew think you would. 

E. S, In case I should ever have occasion to jour- 
ney through that section of the country, and could 
consistently with my arrangements make it convenient 
to tarry for a short time at Wiggleton, I assure you it 
would afford me much pleasure to visit your grave, 
agreeably to your request. 

W. B. O, Elder, how onf eelin' ! 

E, S. Unfeeling! did I not understand you cor- 
rectly when I understood you to request me to visit 
your grave? 

W, B, Yes, but I don't see how you could be so 
carm, when I'm talkin' about dyin'. 

E. S. I assure you, Mrs. Bedott, I had not the 
slightest intention of manifesting a want of feeling in 
my remark. I should regard your demise as a most 
deplorable event, and it would afford me no small de- 
gree of satisfaction to prevent so melancholy a catas- 
trophe were it in my power. 

W. B. Well, I guess I'll go hum. If Sally should 
know you was here a talkin' with me, she'd make an 
awful fuss. 

E. S. Indeed I see no reason to fear that my do- 
mestic should interfere in any of my proceedings. 

W, B. O, lawful sakes ! how numb you be, Elder! 
I didn't allude to Sal Blake — I meant Sal Hugle. 
She't you're ingaged tew. 

E, S. Engaged to Miss Hugle! You alarm me, 
Mrs. Be — 

W. B, Now don't undertake to deny it. Elder; 
everybody says it's a fact. 

E, S. Well, then, it only remains for me to assert 
that everybody is laboring under an entire and unmiti- 
gated mistake. 

W. B, You don't say so, Elder ! Well, I declare, I 
do feel relieved. I couldn't indure the idee o' stayin' 
here to see that match go off. She's so onworthy — so 



16 ELDER SNIFFLES* COURTSHIP 

different from what your companion had ort to be— • 
and so lazy — and makes such awful poitry ; and then 
she hain't worth a cent in the world. But I don't want 
to say a word against her; for, if you ain't ingaged 
now, mabby you will be. O, Elder! promise me, dew 
promise me now 't you won't marry that critter. 
'T would be a consolation to me when I'm far away on 
my dyin' bed to know — {She weeps with renewed 
energy,) O, Elder, I'm afeard I'm gwine to have the 
highsterics. I'm subjick to spasmotic affections when 
I'm excited and overcome. 

E, S. You alarm me, Mrs. Bedott! I will hasten 
to the house and bring the sal volatile, which may re- 
store you. 

W. B. For the land's sake. Elder, don't go after 
Sal; she can't dew nothin* for me. It'll only make 
talk, for she'll tell it all round the village. Jest take 
that ar newspaper that sticks out o' yer pocket, and fan 
me with it a leetle. There, I feel quite resusticated. 
I'm obleeged tew ye; guess I can manage to get hum 
now. (^She rises.) Farwell, Elder SniflSes! adoo! we 
part to meet no more ! 

E, S, Ah, Mrs. Bedott ! do not speak in that mourn- 
ful strain ; you distress me beyond all mitigation. {He 
takes her hand.) Pray reseat yourself, and allow me 
to prolong the conversation for a short period. As I 
before observed, your language distresses me beyond 
all duration. 

TV. B. Dew you actually feel distressed at the idee 
o' partin' with me? 

E. S. Most indubitably, Mrs. Bedott. 

W. B, Well, then, what's the use o' part in' at all? 
O, what hev I said ? what hev I said ? 

E, S. Ahem — ahaw, allow me to inquire — are you 
in easy circumstances, Mrs. Bedott? 

TV. B, Well, not entirely yet, though I feel consid- 
erable easier'n what I did an hour ago. 

E. S. Ahem ! I imagine that you do not fully ap- 
prehend my meaning. I am a clergyman, a laborer 



MRS. SNIFFLES' CONFESSION 17 

in the vineyard of the Lord — as such you will readily 
understand I cannot be supposed to abound in the 
filthy lucre of this world ; my remuneration is small — 
hence — 

W. B. Oy Elder^ how can you s'pose I'd hesitate 
on account o' your bein' poor? Don't think on't — it 
only increases my opinion of you; money ain't no 
objick to me. 

E. S. I naturally infer from your indiiFerence re- 
specting the amount of my worldly possessions that you 
yourself have — 

TV. B. Don't be oneasy^ Elder, dear — don't illude 
tew it again; depend on't, you're jest as dear tew me, 
every bit and grain_, as you would be if you owned all 
the mines in Ingy, 

E, S. I will say no more about it. 

W, B. So I s'pose we're ingaged. 

E. S. Undoubtedly. 

W. B, We're ingaged, and my tribbilation is at an 
end. {Her head drops on his shoulder,) O, Shad- 
rack ! what will Hugelina say when she hears on't ? 

Francis M. Whitcher. 



MKS. SNIFFLES' CONFESSION 



CHARACTERS 

Rev. Mr. Sniffles, A Country Parson, 
Mrs. Sniffles, His Wife, Formerly the Widow Bedott. 
Scene. — The dining-room of the parsonage. 



Mrs. Sniffles, I say I'm disgusted with this old 
house; 'tain't fit for genteel folks to live in; looks as 
if 'twas built in Noah's time, with its consarned old 
gamble-rufi" and leetle bits o' winders a pokin' out like 
bird cages all round. Painted yaller, too, and such a 



18 MRS. SNIFFLES' CONFESSION 

humbly yaller; for all the world jest the color o' 
calomel and j ollop ! 

Rev, Mr, Sniffles, But you are aware, Mrs. 
Sniffles — 

Mrs. S, I say 'tain't fit to live in. I'm ashamed 
on't. I feel awful mortified about it whenever I look 
at Miss Meyerses and Miss Loderses, and the rest o' 
the han'some sittiwations in the neighborhood, with 
their wings and their piazzers and foldin' doors, and 
all so dazzlin' white. It's ridiculous that we should 
have to live in such a distressid lookin' old consarn, 
when we're every bit an' grain as good as they be, if 
not ruther better. 

Mr, S. Nevertheless, the house is very comfortable. 

Mrs, S. Comfortable! who cares for comfort when 
gentility's consarned? I don't. I say if you're de- 
termined to stay in it, you'd ought to make some alter- 
ations in't. You'd ought to higher the ruff up and put 
on some wings, and build a piazzer in front with four 
great pillars to't, and knock out that are petition be- 
twixt the square room and kitchen, and put foldin' 
doors instid on't, and then build on a kitchen behind, 
and have it all painted white, with green winder blinds. 
That would look something like, and then I shouldn't 
feel ashamed to have ginteel company to come to see 
me, as I do now. T'other day, when Curnel Billins 
and his wife called, I couldn't help noticin' how con- 
temptible she looked round at the house and furniture 
— I actilly was so mortified I felt as if I should sink 
right through the floor. 

Mr, S, But you know, Mrs. Sniffles — 

Mrs, S. I say we'd ought to have new furnitur — 
sofys and fashionable cheers — and curtains, and 
mantletry ornaments, and so forth. That old settee 
looks like a sight. And them cheers, tew, they must a 
come over in the ark. And then ther ain't a picter in 
the house, only jest that everlastin' old likeness o' 
Bony parte. I'll bet forty great apples it's five hun- 
dred years old. I was raly ashamed on't when I see 



MRS. SNIFFLES' CONFESSION 19 

Miss Curnel Billins look at it so scornful when they 
called here. I s'pose she was a counterastin* it with 
their beautiful new picters they're jest ben a gittin' up 
from New York^ all in gilt frames. I seen one un 
'em t'other day in to Mr. Bungle's shop^ when I went 
in with Sister Tibbins to look at her portrait that he's 
a paintin'. I seen one o' Miss Billinses picters there. 
'Twas a splendid one^ as big as the top o' that 'are 
table, and represented an elegant lady a lyin' asleep 
by a river, and there was a little angel a hoverin' in 
the air over her head jest a gwine to shoot at her with 
a bow and arrer. I axed Mr. Bungle what 'twas sent 
to his shop for, and he said how't Miss Billins wa'n't 
quite satisfied with it on account o' the angel's legs 
bein' bare, and she wanted him to paint some panta- 
lets on 'em, and he was a gwine to do it as soon as 
he got time. He thought 'twould be a very interestin' 
picter when he got it fixed. I think so tew. I dew 
admire picters when they ain't all dirty and faded out 
like old Bony there. Them Scripter pieces that Sister 
Meyers has got hangin' in her front parlor — them she 
painted afore she was married, strikes me as wonder- 
ful interestin', especially the one that represents 
Pharoh's daughter a findin' Moses in the bullrushes. 
Her parasol and the artificials in her bunnit is jest 
as natral as life. And Moses he looks so cunnin' a 
lyin' there asleep, with his little coral necklace and 
bracelets on. O, it's a sweet picter. And I like that 
other one, tew, that represents Pharoh a drivin' full 
tilt into the Red Sea after the Isrelites. How natral 
his coat-tails flies out. I think some Scripter pieces 
would be very appropriate for a minister's house. We 
might git Mr. Bungle to paint some fol* the front par- 
lor, and our portraits to hang in the back parlor, as 
Miss Meyers has theirn. But law me! what's the use 
o' my talkin' o' havin* picters or anything else that's 
decent.^ You don't seem to take no interest in it. 
You seem to be perfectly satisfied with this flamber- 
gasted old house and everything in it. 



20 MRS. SNIFFLES' CONFESSION 

Mr. S. My former consort never desired anything 
superior to it. 

Mrs. S. Your former consort! I'm sick and tired 
o' hearin about her. 'Tain't by no means agreeable to 
have dead folks throw'd in yer face from mornin' to 
night. What if she was satisfied with her sittiwation? 
'Tain't no sign I should be. I s'pose she hadn't never 
been used to nothin' better^ but I have, 

Mr. S. But^ Mrs. Sniffles^ you must recollect that — 

Mrs. S. I say 'tain't to be put up with. I want to 
have some company — ben wantin' tew ever sence we 
was married; but as for invitin' any ginteel people a 
visitin' to such a distressid old shell as this is^ I won't 
dew it — and — so Miss Billins and Miss Loder and 
them would say I was tryin' to cut a swell^ and couldn't 
make it out. And I don't mean to accept no more in- 
vitations amongst them that lives in style^ for it ag- 
gravates me^ it does^ to think how different I'm sitti- 
wated. So you may make your pastoral visits without 
me in future^ for I've made up my mind not to go out 
none as long as we live in this ridicilous old house. 

Mr. S. But recollect^ Mrs. Sniffles^ this hous-e is a 
parsonage — I occupy it rent free. 

Mrs. S. I don't care if 'tis a parsonage. I say the 
congregation might afford you a better one^ and for my 
part I'm disposed to make a fuss about it. 

Mr. S. Mrs. Sniffles^ you must be aware that I am 
not possessed of inexhaustible means. I have never 
attempted to conceal from you this fact — therefore^ 
you must also be aware that there exists an entire im- 
possibility of my erecting a new residence on the plan 
which you propose. Nor is it at all probable that the 
congregation would be willing to make such alterations 
in this as you suggest. Yet^ I assure you that I have 
not the slightest objection to your employing your own 
means in the construction of a more elegant edifice. 

Mrs. S. My own means? 

Mr. S. Yes^ Mrs. Sniffles. Your dissatisfaction 
with the parsonage is so great that I have for some 



MRS. SNIFFLES' CONFESSION 21 

time past been expecting you would propose building 
a new residence ; and I repeat that such an appropria- 
tion of a portion of your funds would meet my concur- 
rence. 

Mrs. S, My funds! 

Mr, S. Your funds, Mrs. Sniffles. It is a delicate 
subject, and one on which I have hitherto hesitated to 
make inquiry, although possessing an undoubted right 
to do so. I have been expecting ever since our union, 
that you would inform me how and where your prop- 
erty is invested. 

Mrs, S. My property ! 

Mr. S. Your property, Mrs. Sniffles. In what does 
it consist, if I may be permitted to inquire? 

Mrs, S. Land o' Liberty ! you know as well as I 
dew. 

Mr. S. What am I to infer from that observation.^ 

Mrs. S. Jest what you're a mind to. I ain't woth 
money, and I never said I was. 

Mr, S. Mrs. Sniffles, you are well aware that, on 
your arrival in this place, common report pronounced 
you to be an individual of abundant means, and I have 
always labored under this impression — an impression 
which, allow me to remind you, yourself confirmed in a 
conversation which occurred between us in the parson- 
age grove. 

Mrs, S. You don't mean to say 't I told you so, and 
you darsen't say 't I did. 

Mr, S. A-hem — I mean to say that you did not 
deny it when I delicately alluded to the subject. On 
the contrary you led me to infer that such was the fact, 
and under that impression I was induced to accede to 
your proposal ! 

Mrs, S. My proposal! What do you mean to in- 
sinniwate ? 

Mr. S. I should have said your — your — evident 
inclination for a — a — matrimonial engagement. I 
deeply regret, Mrs. Sniffles, that you should have al- 
lowed yourself to practice upon me what I cannot con- 



22 MRS. SNIFFLES' CONFESSION 

sider in any other light than that of a hideous unmit- 
igated deception. I regard it as an act quite incompat- 
ible with your religious professions. 

Mrs. S. You dew, hey.^ well, you can't say't I ever 
told you out and out that I was woth property; and if 
you was a mind to s'pose so from what I did say, I'm 
sure 'tain't my fault, nor I ain't to blame for other 
folkses saying I was a rich widder. 

Mr. S. Mrs. Sniffles, I lament exceedingly that you 
should view it in that light. You can but acknowledge 
that it was your duty when I requested information on 
the subject, to have given me a correct account of your 
property. 

Mrs. S. I hadn't no property to give you an ac- 
count of. 

Mr. S. You should have told me so, Mrs. Sniffles, 
and not have suffered me to infer that you was in easy 
circumstances. 

Mrs. S. I tell ye agin, I couldn't help what you 
inferred, and s'posen I could, which was the most to 
blame, me for lettin' you think I was rich, or you for 
marryin' me because you thought I was rich.^ For my 
part, I think that was ruther incompatible with your 
professions. Ministers had ought to have their aiFec- 
tions sot above transitterry riches. 

Mr. S. Mrs. Sniffles, this is a — a — delicate sub- 
ject; we will waive it, if you please. 

Mrs. S. But I think the congregation ought to fix 
up the house. 

Mr. S. I will lay it before the session at the next 
meeting. 

Mrs. S. Well, dew, for pity's sake. And if they 
agree to fix it, I'll go a journey somewhar while it's a 
being altered, and you can board round, and Sal can 
stay at sister Maguire's. 

Francis M. Whitcher. 



ADVERTISING FOR A COMPANION 23 

ADVERTISING FOR A 
COMPANION 



CHARACTERS 

Miss Gertrude Graham, An Old Maid, who desires a 

companion. 
Margaret Martin, A Poetess, 
Sarah Von Gravestein, A German Girl. 
Bridget McLackerty, An Irish Girl. 

Scene. — A room, comfortably furnished. Miss Gra- 
ham seated in a rocker, with a book in her hand. 



Miss Graham. Oh^ what a duU book! Nothing in- 
teresting in it — nothing at all. The great wonder to 
me is how any writer can waste time writing such 
trash. {Yawns.) I declare I'm almost asleep. 
{Throws the book on the floor.) I'm sure I'll not at- 
tempt to read anything more from that author. It 
seems that there are no interesting books written now. 
I have advertised for a companion. I must have com- 
pany; it is so lonely living here all alone. And when 
I find a companion, she shall amuse me — she shall 
sing for me^ she shall read for me — that is^ if she 
can find anything that isn't dull and stupid. Fortu- 
nately, I can now live without having to work and 
strive and struggle. {Taking up a paper.) 1 will 
read my advertisement again. I flatter myself that it 
is neatly worded. {Reads.) " A lady living all 
alone, and having an abundance of means at her dis- 
posal, wants a companion. Inquire at No. 42 Preston 
Avenue, Westfield, at 10 o'clock^ on Thursday^ 20th." 
It is short, but I think I have said all that is neces- 
sary to be said. Now, if I can only be so fortunate as 
to find a young lady suited to the position, I shall in- 
deed be -thankful. {Knock at door.) Ah! someone 



24 ADVERTISING FOR A COMPANION 

coming. {Takes out her watch,) It is not yet time 
for the applicants to arrive. The hour is 10 o'clock, 
and it is now but half-past nine. But I will see who 
it is. (Rises, goes to door, and opens it,) 

Sarah, How you does.^ I haf shoost come. 

Miss Graham, I am surprised. But come in. 

Sarah, Yaw^ I vill shoost do dot. {Enter Sarah,) 
Und I vill sit town^ too. {Seats herself in Miss Gra- 
ham's rocker,) I is awful tired. I haf valked all de 
vay from dwo mile out of de town, so dot I vould pe 
shoost on dime, or a leetle ahead of dime. 

Miss Graham, And what did you come for? 

Sarah, Now, isn't dot a purty quesdion to come 
from you, und you put de adfertisement in de baper 
yourself } 

Miss Graham, Oh, you came in answer to my ad- 
vertisement for a companion. 

Sarah, Yaw, dot is it oxactly. I vas shoost look- 
in' ofer de baper, und I had read apout de brice of 
putter und millik und oniyons and sich, and some of 
de news apout de beople of de town, und all to vonst 
I seed your adfertisement apout vantin' a companion 
to converse mit, und fur to read to you, as I sup- 
posed, und sich, und I says to mineself, ** Dot is shoost 
de position you vant, Sarah. Der vill not pe much to 
do — mebbe no vork at all, und I know dot I vill make 
a first rade numper von companion." So I gits righd 
up und puts on petter clothes, und comes righd ofer. 
I vas in von pig hurry, too, fur I tidn't know but dot 
de position might pe gif out afore I arrove. Has it 
peen gif out? 

Miss Graham, No, my good woman, not yet. 

Sarah, Veil, you needn't call me a voman, fur I 
am only a girl. Only shoost apout dwenty-five — dot 
is all, und I tinks I am about righd to act as a com- 
panion fur you or anypody else. 

Miss Graham, Have you had any experience as a 
companion ? 

Sarah, Yaw. I haf peen a companion for my 



ADVERTISING FOR A COMPANION 25 

modther und my fadther efer since I vas a leetle girl, 
und I tinks dot I understand de peesness shoost as veil 
as anypody could understand it. I vould know how 
to dalk to you. I vould know how to act under de 
most tryin' circumstances, und I vill shoost pe de per- 
son dot you vant. Dere hasn't peen nobody here yet, 
I s'pose.^ 

Miss Graham, No; you came before the appointed 
time. 

Sarah. Veil, I tidn't care for dot. I vas deter- 
mined dot I vould pe ahead. I read de adfertisement, 
und den I shoost put on my bonnet und started. Say, 
vill I git de blace, uh? Und how much vill you pay 
me.^ {Knock at door.) 

Miss Graham. Ah ! they are beginning to come. 
{Rises.) 

Sarah (rising). Veil, ton't let dem in. I vas here 
f erst, und I ought to haf de blace und pe de companion. 
Von't I git de blace, und how much vill you pay me, 
uh.^ 

Miss Graham (going to the door). 1 must see who 
is here. 

Sarah. Stop now. Dot isn't fair. Vasn't I here 
ferst.^ (Miss Graham opens- the door.) 

Margaret (outside). Good-morning, Miss Graham. 

Miss Graham. Good-morning. Come in. 

Enter Margaret. 

. Sarah. No, she needn't come in. Vasn't I here 
ferst, und ain't I de von dot ought to get de blace? 
You ain't von rascal, are you.^ How much vill de 
salary pe.^ 

Miss Graham. Be quiet. I have not employed you. 
I want to see all who come before I make an engage- 
ment. 

Sarah, Veil, dot is not fair. But if I must vait, 
I must. I don't tink dis girl dot has shoost come 
in vill suit you. 

Miss Graham (placing chair). Be seated. 



26 ADVERTISING FOR A COMPANION 

Margaret, Thank you. (Seats herself,) 

Miss Graham, I presume you saw my advertise- 
ment^ and have come to apply for the position of com- 
panion. 

Margaret, Yes^ ma'am, and I shall be thankful 
for the place. I know you will give it to me, and I 
know I am just the person you want. 

Sarah, I ton't tink she vill do. She isn't pig 
enough or strong enough to pe a companion for a 
voman dot is lifin' all alone. She vould pe no goot. 
Anyhow, it vouldn't pe right nor fair nor accordin' 
to shustice to pitch me out ven I vas de ferst to 
come. 

Miss Graham, Miss Whatever-your-name-is, I want 
to advise you to talk less. I expect to see all the ap- 
plicants, and I don't want you to interfere in my se- 
lection. 

Sarah, Veil, now you shoost needn't git so cranky 
apout it. I ton't vant notings but vot is right, und 
you looked to me ven I comed in like as if you vas 
a voman dot vould act shoost right and accordin' to 
shustice. (Knock at door,) 

Miss Graham, Ah, another applicant! 

Sarah, Veil, I tinks dere is apout enough appli- 
cants now. I tinks you had petter not let any more 
get in here. I comed in ferst, und I ought to haf de 
blace. 

Margaret (recites and gesticulates grotesquely.) 

" See how she rides upon the gale ! 
She will get there, or else she'll fail ; 
She walks the waters, oh, so grand ! 
She'll get there first — she has the sand." 

Sarah (advancing). Is it me dot you are dalkin' 
apout ? 

Margaret, No, I Wasn't talking about you, you 
little Dutch woman. I wasn't talking about anybody. 

Sarah, Veil, if you vould make rhymes apout me, 
I vould knock you into de mittle of next week. 



ADVERTISING FOR A COMPANION 27 

Miss Graham {opening the door). Come in, come 
in. Are you an applicant for the place? 

(Enter Bridget.) 

Bridget. Shure an' ye're roight. Oi have come 
after the place an' I want to be a companion. Are yez 
a married woman .^ 

Miss Graham. No_, I am not married. 

Bridget. Oi s'pose ye're an ould maid, then? 

Miss Graham, You are somewhat impudent in your 
remarks. I don't think you will suit me. 

Bridget. Shure an' Oi wull. Oi niver was a 
companion afore, but Oi'll be all roight all the same. 
Oi'll take the place, an' jez nadn't have ony fears but 
what Oi'll git along. 

Sarah. Veil, I tinks you haf more cheek than half 
a dozen common Irishmen. I vas a leetle too smart 
for you. I vas here ferst. I vas ahead, und you vas 
pehind, like all de Irish, und I haf got de blace. 

Margaret. I think not. I haven't made my ap- 
plication. (To Miss Graham.) 1 believe I could fill 
the place. I could read to you, and I could make 
poetrv for your entertainment. Do you love poe- 
try? ^ 

Miss Graham, Oh, yes, yes ; I dote on poetry. 

Sarah (aside). She shoost looks like as if she vas 
dotin'. 

Bridget. Shure now, ye ould maid av a woman_, are 
yez goin' to throw me out an' take .that girrel because 
she can make rhymes ? Oi can make rhymes, too. 
D'ye want to hear me? 

Miss Graham. Yes, I will be glad to hear you. 

Bridget (recites). 

*' The house was old, the wind was cold 
And Simon Johnston froze his toes." 

Miss Graham. Not very fine. 

Bridget. Shure an' Oi'll bate a quarther that it is 
betther than ye can make, ye ould haythen, ye. 



28 ADVERTISING FOR A COMPANION 

Margaret {recites), 

" But when October comes, 
And poplars drift their leafage down in flakes of gold 

below^ 
And beeches burn like twilight fires, that used to tell of 

snow, 
And maples bursting into flame, set all the hills afire, 
And summer, from the evergreens, sees paradise draw 

nigher, 
A thousand sunsets all at once distill like Hermon's 

dew, 
And linger on the waiting wood, and stain them through 

and through^ 
As if all earth had blossomed out one grand Corinthian 

flower. 
To crown Time's graceful capital for just one gorgeous 

hour!" 

Bridget. Oi'll bate a quarther Oi can spake jist 
about as good as that. Jist hear me now. 

Miss Graham (aside). How am I to get rid of 
these people.'* Oh, why did I advertise for a com- 
panion.^ {To Sarah,) You were the first to come; 
you may be the first to leave. I have decided that I 
will not employ a companion. 

Sarah, Now, vould you act de rascal dot vay.^ 
Didn't I hurry und come here early to git de blace, und 
now vould you pe so mean und act de rascalso pad as 
to pitch me out.^ 

Miss Graham, But I have decided that I will not 
have a companion. 

Sarah, Oh, dot is all bosh. You shoost vant to 
git me to leaf, und den you vill dake one of dese 
odders. Dey hadn't no right to come here ven I had 
got here ferst und had got de blace. 

Miss Graham, I tell you all that I have decided 
that I do not want a companion, and will not have one. 

Sarah, Oh, you is von rascal. 

Margaret. But I can make poetry. 



ADVERTISING FOR A COMPANION 29 

Miss Graham, I don't care ! I don't care ! I will 
not be annoyed. Get out! I don't want any of you. 

Bridget, Oi have a plan fur yez. Yer advertise- 
ment says ye have plenty av money. Wull, Oi will 
send my brodther^ an' maybe he will make a good com- 
panion fur yez. I think he wu'd be willin' to marry 
jez. Ye may be a leetle too ould fur him, but Oi 
reckon he wu'dn't care whin yez have the money. 
What d'ye say about it } 

Miss Graham. I say for you all to get out of my 
house. I'll not have anybody for a companion. No, 
never! I am disgusted with the whole business. Get 
out ! Go ! Leave my house ! 

Sarah (coming forward). Oh, you can't scare me! 
I shoost vill stand up for my rights. I vas here ferst, 
und you can't run me off mitout an oxplanation. 

Margaret, And I will stand up for my rights. 
(Recites.) 

'* Let Hercules himself do what he may, 
The cat will mew, and dog will have his day." 

Bridget, Shure an' Oi'U stand up fur me roights, 
too. If Oi can't be a companion fur yez, thin Jamie 
wull. He's not as ould as yez, but Oi reckon he'd be 
willin' to marry yez, seein' as ye've got considherable 
money. 

Miss Graham (hysterically). Oh, will you not go? 
Go, I say ! Go, go, go ! I can't endure this. Go, or I 
will send for the police. (Walks around, excited,) 

Bridget. Now, don't be afther gettin' yersilf into 
sich a disthressed condition. Oi want to ax yez one 
question : Don't yez call yersilf a gintleman, an' won't 
ytz be as good as yer word.^* 

Miss Graham (stopping in her walk. Aside) * I 
have certainly got myself into an awkward fix. Who 
would ever have thought that my advertisement would 
bring such scum as this? Either one of them would 
drive me crazy in an hour! What shall I do to get 
rid of them? 



so ADVERTISING FOR A COMPANION 

Margaret, This is a pretty piece of business. You 
advertise for a companion^ and here I am. I can well 
understand that these other applicants would be worse 
than useless to you; wouldn't they make lovely read- 
ers.^ Ha! ha! What fault have you to find in me? 

I will not leave you^ come what may^ 
You bet your life I've come to stay. 

Miss Graham (aside). Just listen to that! Slang! 
No! I can't stand this any longer. I have it, I'll 
bring some imaginary men and guns to my rescue. 
And I'll be crazy for a few minutes — yes^ I'll be 
frightfully wild. (Goes to the door at one side of 
the stage, and calls.) John, come here. Make haste! 
Bring your guns ! I'm annoyed by an Irish woman, 
and a Dutch woman, and another woman. Come 
quickly. Don't delay. The war is about to commence. 
The American flag has been hauled down. (Goes to 
the other side of the stage, and calls,) Thomas, come 
here ! Make haste ! Come instantly. Bring seven 
guns and five dogs. I'm annoyed by an Irish woman, 
and a Dutch woman, and another woman. Make haste. 
Come immediately. Bring five guns and seven dogs. 
The necessity of the case demands it. Three guns for 
the Irish woman, three for the Dutch woman, and ten 
for the other woman. 

Margaret (runs out, screaming). Mercy! good- 
ness ! would they shoot us ? Oh ! oh ! 

Bridget, Shure an Oi think Oi've got into a lunatic 
asylum. Oi belave she's gone crazy intirely. Oi'U 
git out av the house, onyhow. (Runs out,) 

Sarah, Veil, veil, isn't dis a burty vay? I tinks 
dis is nothing but a crazy kind of a lunatic asylum. I 
tinks I had petter run out, too. (Runs out.) 

Miss Graham. Good riddance ! Well, now, if I 
should ever want a companion, I'm sure I shall find 
her in some other way than by advertising. 
Curtain, 

H. E. McBride. 



WIMMIN'S SCHOOL OF FELOSOPHY 31 



THE WIMMIN'S SCHOOL OF 
FELOSOPHY 



CHARACTERS 



Elderly and Middle 
Aged Ladies. 



The President^ 
The Deacon's Wife^ 
Jerusha^ 
Hepsibah, 
Ruth Ann. 

Scene. — An old fashioned country living room fur- 
nished with many odd and old-fashioned articles, the 
whole presenting a quaint appearance, A company 
of elderly ladies in grotesque costumes are gathered 
in the middle of the room, the President occupying 
the seat of honor. 



President. The next subjeck ter be considered and 
discussed on is^ " What are the Causes for the Extrava- 
gance o' Wimmin, and Wherein are the Men Folks ter 
Blame For 't?'' 

Deacon^s Wife (without rising). I've made up my 
mind ter say somethin' ter this meetin' and I ain't a 
goin' ter let the Squire's wife '' set down '* on me agin, 
not if I know it. I'm awful afraid this ere school of 
our'n is goin' ter make a rumpus with the men, ain't 
you? 'Specially if we should go ter layin' blame onto 
'em for our extravagance — they'll feel dretful cross- 
grained and hard agin us ; and, massy knows, 'tain't any 
too easy to git along with some on 'em now, I for one 
don't want'er do nothin' to stir 'em up and git 'em mad. 
The deacon don't 'prove o' this school no how, and he's 
ben pickin' out chapters for readin' night and mornin^ 
for much as a fortnight^ all bearin' upon female sub- 
mission, and so on. This mornin', arter prayers, I 
spunked up and told him that I didn't think the 'postle 



32 WIMMIN'S SCHOOL OF FELOSOPHY 

Paul's opinion o' wimmin amounted ter much. " What 
does an old bachelder know about wimmin?'* says I. 
" And what does a pack o' old maids know 'bout men ? " 
says he^ firin' up. " 'Most all your ' School o' Felos- 
ofy ' wimmin is old maids/' says he. Wa'n't that 
mean } 

Ruth Ann, You might a told him that we know all 
we want'er know 'bout men, and more tew. But they 
needn't fret, they won't be hurt. Our school ain't a 
wimmin's rights consarn by no manner o' means; quite 
the contrairy. And you can tell the deacon that we 
should a' invited the men ter j ine, only we felt delekit 
'bout it ; thought we could dew better by ourselves — 
same's female prayer meetin', ye know. We shouldn't 
feel free 'fore sech superior hem's. You can tell him 
how 'tis. 

D. W. Now you're makin' fun o' the men, Ruth 
Ann, and I don't blame ye, for they be a pig-headed, 
consaited lot, and I will say it, if I be a married woman, 
and a deacon's wife ! {Pounding the table with her 
knitting work, and looking round as if to make sure the 
deacon isn't in sight,) 

Hepsibah, There's lots o' good men in the world. 

D. W, O yes, the deacon's good enough — we all 
know that; but I'd rather he'd be a leetle more agree- 
able, if he wa'n't so awful good. 

Hep, (laughing). That's pooty rough on the deacon. 

Z). W. I don't care if 'tis it's the truth, any way. 
(Knits furiously ,) 

Ruth Ann, Extravagance is a word that's ben mis- 
applied and 'bused 'bout as much as any word in the 
English language, I guess. Mean, stingy folks call 
that extravagant that ain't only jest comfortable; and 
then agin, what's extravagant for the poor ter dew is 
only right and proper for rich folks, don't you see ? 

jD. W, Yes, I dew, and that is what riles me so when 
the deacon insists upon our skimpin' and pinchin' as a 
dooty. If we wa'n't well off, with money in the bank, I 
wouldn't say a word; but, Ruth Ann, I'll tell you — I 



WIMMIN'S SCHOOL OF FELOSOPHY 33 

wouldn't say it ter everybody — the way that man con- 
trives ter save does beat all ! Sometimes his notions is 
laughable. The hat he wore when we was married, 
and for a good many years afterward, is up in the gar- 
ret 'long with other old things that's laid there this 
thirty year — he never lets me give a thing away — 
says everything comes in course some time; but this hat 
is a white stove-pipe — wall, jest such a hat as Uncle 
Sam alwers wears in the newspaper cartoons. I s'pose 
it looked all right in the day on't; but now — O dear! 
Wall, every spring, in house-cleanin' time, when I'm up 
in the garret putting things ter rights, up he comes 
regular ter make sure all his old sculch is safe — his 
stone-funnels and cracked cider-jugs and old cart- 
wheels — and I'd orter mentioned 'long with the hat a 
black silk vest, with picters o' George Washington all 
over it, that his uncle used to wear and left there when 
he died ; it's all ragged now — a sight ter see. Wall, 
year arter year, as sure as the spring and house-cleanin* 
comes round, the deacon follers me up into the garret, 
and the fust thing he does is to spy out that old hat ; he 
picks it up, puts it on his hed, and turns ter me and says, 
very severe: 

** Betsey, what's the matter with this 'ere hat? Why 
is it laid one side? " 

And I laugh and say, '' Why, Jonas, how forgetful 
you be; don't you know that 'are was your weddin' hat.^ 
It's been up here this thirty year." 

" Is that so.^ " says he, takin' it off and lookin' at it. 
" But I don't see's anything is the matter on 't; good 
enough ter wear ter the barn 't any rate; " so he puts 
the redickerlus thing on his head agin and goes on rum- 
magin' 'round. Bimeby he comes acrost the old vest 
hangin' in a corner, takes it down, looks it over careful, 
and finally puts that on, too, a-top of his striped frock^ 
and comes ter me agin and says, severer than ever : 

** Betsey, I tell ye now we can't afford ter throw away 
good clo'e's. What's the matter with this 'ere vest? " 

Then, 'Ruth Ann, I look up at him standin' there. 



34 WIMMIN'S SCHOOL OF FELOSOPHY 

Yer know how fat he is, and with that short-waisted 
rag of a vest buttoned across his stummick, and his 
striped frock a hangin' down^ his blue overhalls tucked 
into his boots, and that weddin' hat set one side of his 
hed, and I jest laugh, and screech, and holler, till I'm 
bout gin out, and the deacon gits mad and out o' 
patience with me, and, like enough, the white stove- 
pipe rolls oiF on ter the floor, or the valooable vest splits 
out behind, and that tickles me all the more. 

Well, when I dew leave off at last, the deacon sets 
tew and lectures me. 

" Hain't you no dignerty at all.^ A pooty deacon's 
wife you be," and so on and so forth. 

** P'r'aps I be," says I ; ** but it's enough ter make 
anybody's wife laugh, 'less it's Lot's wife arter she's 
turned into the pillar o' salt," says I. 

I reckon that a good many folks is 'cused o' extrav- 
agance that ain't so at all. 

There's them Dodge girls on the hill; you know how 
stylish and well-dressed they alwers look, 'specially 
Mariar, the eldest one. Wall, she's harnsome as a 
picter, ter begin with, got one o' them nateral pink-and- 
white complexions that'll wash and bile, as you might 
say, and a good figger that don't need no five-dollar 
corsets ter fetch it into shape ; and whatever she puts on 
she looks dressed out ter kill, don't she.^* I've heard 
the 'Squire's Lizy Jane say many a spiteful thing 'bout 
Mariar's extravagance, when the fact is, Mariar never 
pretends ter wear anything better'n a cashmere in win- 
ter or a pretty muslin in summer; and it takes silks and 
satings and all creation ter rig out Lizy Jane, and then 
she ain't nothin' but a great awkwerd, gawmin' thing; 
looks more like a feather-bed with a string tied 'round 
the middle than anything else, though she ain't ter 
blame for her looks, as I know on, only it's a pity that 
folks that is so awful humly can't be a leetle pleasant 
in their ways ter kinder make up for't, you know; but 
they ain't now. As a general thing, the wuss anybody 
looks, the more hateful and disagreeable they act. 



AWEUL BOOTS 35 

Jerusha, That's so^ but I dunno's all this talk bears 
very hard on the subjeck: we hain't even touched on 
the last part o' the question — " wherein be the men 
folks ter blame/' etc. 

D, W. I guess (rolling up her knitting and getting 
ready to go)^ I guess perhaps we married wimmin 
hadn't better arger that pint much. We'll kinder talk 
round and lead up tew it, as ye might say; and then you 
and Hepsibah and the rest o' the young gals can take 
hold on't. Not that I'm afraid (looking around as if 
she expected the deacon might he standing behind her 
chair), but I don't want'er create no hard feelin's 
among the men. 

Hep, All right; you can leave 'em to us, we'll be 
very careful o' their feelin's — the poor sensitive cree- 
turs. 

Z). W. (starts for the door, then turns and says:) 
Ruth Ann, if the 'Squire's wife happens to pitch into 
the men next Tuesday night, I shall have to follow 
suit. She ain't agoin' to get ahead o' me this time, not 
if the Deacon gets a divorce the very next mornin'. 
(Curtain.) 

" JosiAH Allen's Wife." — Adapted. 

AWFUL BOOTS 



CHARACTERS 
Emma Forrester, A Young Lady who hasn't quite made 

up her mind. 
Jack Forrester, A Boy, and a Cousin of Emma's. 
Augustus Lofty, An Exquisite, and one of Emma's 

Admirers. 
John Monroe, Another Admirer. 

Scene I. — A Room. Entrances R. and L. Table and 
Chairs. Emma seated, C. 



Emma. What am I to do? Last week Augustus 
Lofty proposed to me, and then, before two days had 



36 AWFUL BOOTS 

passed^ and before I had quite recovered from the 
astonishment, John Monroe appeared and made a-prop- 
osition of the same kind. They both appeared to think 
a great deal of me; at least they talked in a manner to 
make me believe they loved me, but I certainly did not 
expect them to propose so soon, and I am quite at a 
loss what to say. I can't marry both of them, and I 
can't say that I have a very great desire to marry either 
of them. But I must marry, I suppose. I am in a 
measure dependent on my uncle, and I wish to retire 
from this mansion as soon as possible. My uncle is 
kind, but I am inclined to think that my aunt wants me 
to marry, and get out of the way of her own daughters. 
But which shall I marry? {Reflectively.) Augustus 
Lofty — John Monroe. Augustus is stylish, and seems 
to be wealthy. John is a mechanic, probably not very 
well off in this world's goods, and yet he may have more 
money than Augustus. But why do I talk in this way.^ 
I am ashamed of myself. Haven't I said again and 
again that I would not marry for money .^ Augustus 
does not seem quite so brave and noble as John — 

Enter Jack Forrester, R. 

Jack, Hello, Emma, all alone, are you.^ May I 
come in and talk to you.^ 

Emma, Certainly, certainly. I am always glad to 
see you. Jack. I'm in trouble now; perhaps you can 
help me out of it. 

Jack, You in trouble?? Well, you are the last 
person I would suppose to be in trouble. Why, cousin 
Emma, you always seem happy and joyful. I wish I 
could be like you. But what is the matter? What 
cloud is now overshadowing you? 

Emma, I'll tell you all; you have always been a 
true friend to me, and I'll give you my confidence. I 
have had two offers of marriage. 

Jack. Two! why, you're lucky. A great many 
women pine all their lives and don't get one, " Full 
many a flower is born to blush unseen; " but that isn't 



AWFUL BOOTS ST 

your case^ for youVe been seen and appreciated. I 
like you a heap myself, cousin Emma, and if I was a 
bigger boy, or you were a smaller girl, I'd marry you 
myself. What do you think of that? 

Emma, You startle me. But even if you were a 
larger boy, or I was a smaller girl, I might not want to 
marry you. You know it takes two to make a bargain. 

Jack. Gracious ! I didn't think of that ! Well, 
there's no use in crying over spilled milk, and it is still 
worse to cry over milk that might be spilled, hut isn't, 
I have no crying to do, cousin Emma. Go on with your 
story, and I will help you out of your difficulty. 

Emma, Well, as I said before, I have received two 
proposals of matrimony, from two persons. 

Jack. Two persons ! I suppose they were men. If 
it isn't a secret, I'd like to know who they are, but if 
you don't want to tell me, and want me to guess, I'll 
show my ability in that line. 

Emma, Let me hear you guess. 

Jack, Mr. Augustus Lofty and Mr. John Monroe. 

Emma, You are correct. 

Jack, Well, you can do as you please, Emma; but 
if I was a woman, and that Mr. Lofty should come a 
courting me, I'd send him a skallyhooting. 

Emma. What kind of a word is that? 

Jack, Well, I can't tell whether it is Greek or Latin, 
but that's what the boys say when they mean that they 
will send something in a hurry. For instance, if a boy 
should hit me I'd hit him back again, and if I was able 
I'd send him a skallyhooting upon his head. Do you 
understand ? 

Emma. Yes. 

Jack, Well, I reiterate, as the preacher says ; I'd 
send Mr. Lofty a skallyhooting. I don't like him. He 
looks too much like a toad on springs. 

Emma. But isn't he wealthy? 

Jack. I have grave doubts on the subject. But 
didn't you say you would never marry for money? 

Emma. Yes, and I don't expect to. But if I loved 



38 AWFUL BOOTS 

two men just the same, and one was wealthy and the 
other poor^ which should I marry? 

Jack, Cousin Emma, that's all bosh about loving 
two men just the same. Aunt Margaret says it is, and 
she ought to know. Now I never liked two girls awful 
hard at the same time. I like one a spell, and then I 
like another a spell. 

Emma, Yes, that's boy style. 

Jack {straightening up). Cousin Emma, you don't 
call me a boy, do you.'^ I'm fifteen, and I'm studying 
algebra. 

Emma. I know you are getting along very well, and 
I have no doubt you are beginning to think of mar- 
riage. 

Jack, Why, I've been thinking of that for some 
time. Not thinking of marriage for myself, but trying 
to solve the question as to whether it is better to marry 
or to remain single. No, indeed, I am not thinking of 
marriage for myself. I have a work to do. I am 
going to astonish the world. 

Emma, I shouldn't wonder. 

Jack, Now, Cousin Emma, you are bent upon rush- 
ing into matrimony, and I shall not advise you on the 
subject; but as to your selection of a husband, I shall 
not hesitate to advise you. Don't have anything to do 
with Mr. Lofty — cut his acquaintance — set him 
adrift. He's a cowardly man and a spoon. I have 
found that out, and if you have no objection I'll prove 
it to you. 

Emma, In what way? 

Jack. The next time he comes I will place a pair of 
boots under the sofa in the next room, and then you 
must lead Mr. Lofty to believe that there is a blood- 
thirsty, murdering house-breaker there. If he will 
rush in and take hold of the boots and try to pull out a 
man, then I'm mistaken, and you may think seriously 
of accepting him for your lawful wedded husband; but 
if he gets frightened and runs away — 

Emma, I'll reject him. 



AWFUL BOOTS 39 

Jack. Sensible! When does he come again? 

Emma. To-night. 

Jack, And when does Mr. Monroe come.^ 

Emma, To-night or to-morrow night. 

Jack, Hope he'll come to-night ; and if he does^ and 
if he gets frightened at the boots^ rej ect him too. I 
would have no man who is afraid of a pair of boots. 

Emma, Nor I either. I thank you^ Jack^ for your 
suggestion_, and will act on it. 

Jack, But remember to have a curtain around the 
sofa^ and don't have the boots sticking out too far. But 
I'll arrange that for you. I know how to place the 
boots so as to make them look life-like and awful, and 
I'll give Mr. Lofty an awful scare. Now I must go 
and tell Alice and Lucy to keep out of the way. I 
should like to see the exquisite Mr. Lofty shake and 
tremble and rush out of the house^ but I suppose it 
wouldn't be proper to listen nor hang around. 

Emma, Certainly^ Jack^ you may listen. 

Jack, May I ? Good ! Thank you. Oh^ it will be 
glorious fun ! Keep a cheerful hearty cousin mine, and 
you shall win a brave husband. {Exit Jack, R,^ 



Scene II. — Same as First, 
Enter Emma, R, 

Emma, Augustus will be here soon. Jack's plan is 
certainly an amusing one^ but I shall act on it, and if 
Augustus is, as Jack says, " afraid of a pair of boots," 
I shall reject him instantly. He comes. 

Enter Augustus Lofty, L. 

Augustus, Aw, my chawming Emma, good evening. 
I am delighted to see you. 

Emma, Indeed ! Be seated, Augustus. 

Augustus (seats himself), Yaas, Delightful 
weathaw this evening. 

Emma, Beautiful. {Pause), 



40 AWFUL BOOTS 

Augustus. This is the evening, you know — the 
evening — 

Emma {aside). He's coming to the point at once. 
(To Augustus.) Yes. 

Augustus, 'Pon honaw, you look chawming to-night. 
I — that is — you undawstand — I have called this 
evening for the answer to my pwoposition. Oh, 
Emma ! chawming, beautiful, bewitching lady, do not 
cwush me by saying that you love me not, but make me 
the happiest of mowtals by accepting my hand and 
hawt. 

Emma, I fear we are not suited to each other. 

Augustus. Oh, gwacious ! Don't speak in that 
awful mannaw, or I shall succumb — I shall expiaw — 
I shall wave and go wild — I shall feel wetched and 
misewable. Suited to each othaw ! Oh, Emma, say 
not so! I will love you I will pwotect you. Yaas. 
Nothing shall disturb you when I am awound. 

Emma. You will protect me? 

Augustus. Yaas, always. 

Emma {rising). Excuse me a moment. {Exit 
Emma, R,) 

Augustus, What the deuce does she mean by leaving 
a fellow that way.^ Pwobably she has gone to ask her 
aunt about it. 

Reenter Emma, R., seemingly very much frightened, 

Emma, Oh, Augustus ! I am so terribly frightened. 

Augustus. Gwacious! What's wong? 

Emma. Oh, there's a pair of awful hoots sticking 
out from under the sofa in the next room. 

Augustus, You don't say! What's to be done? 
Why don't you call youaw uncle? 

Emma. Uncle and aunt are away; they are over at 
Watson's. You must fight him alone. 

Augustus. Good gwacious! Me fight him! Nevaw! 
The ideaw is pweposterous ! 

Emma. Oh, Augustus, something must be done. 

Augustus, I'll wun and get some help. 



AWFUL BOOTS 411 

Emma. Oh^ no^ no ! would you leave me alone to be 
murdered ? 

Augustus. ISOy no^ of course not — but — but — 
can't you come along? (Moving towards the door.) 

Emma. Oh^ dear^ no ! Augustus_, you said you would 
protect me. Will you not clutch those boots and drag 
them out? 

Augustus. Me clutch those boots! Nevaw! I 
don't like to get into wows. 

Emma. But can't you fight him? 

Augustus. Fight a burglar! Me contend with one 
whole burglar ! Don't you know burglars carry pis- 
tols and guns and knives? Oh^ it is awful! Let us 
wetire and get some help. 

Emma. And if we should retire_, might not the 
house be robbed while we are away? No^ I will not 
desert the house. 

Augustus. Well 'pon honaw I shall have to wetire 
— I feel unwell. 

Emma (sinks into a chair and pretends to weep). 
Oh^ I am to be deserted by one who said he would al- 
ways protect me. 

Augustus (stammering). Weally — 'pon honaw — 
good gwacious ! I think you had better come with me, 
and we'll get some persons to come and arwest the 
blood-thirsty man. 

Emma (springing up). No, wait a moment, and I'll 
bring in the blood-thirsty man. (Going R.) 

Augustus. Gwacious! Stop! Jupiter! You'll be 
murdered and I'll be murdered. (Ej:it Emma, R.) 
What a weckless woman! Well, I must go. I can't 
stay here and be shot down by a burglar. (Going L.) 

Reenter Emma, R., with a pair of hoots in her hand. 

Emma. Yes, go ! Go as soon as you please, and 
never return. Brave Mr. Lofty! (Sneeringly.) 
And so you are afraid of a pair of boots ! 

Augustus, Good gwacious ! I thought there was a 
burglar, a housebreaker, a muwdewaw — aw, I see; a 



42 AWFUL BOOTS 

joke. Aw, Emma, you do get up such chawming jokes. 

Emma, Do I, Indeed? 'Tis quite a joke on you, 
Mr. Lofty. You have my answer; I do not care to see 
you again. A man who is afraid of a pair of boots, 
would not make a good protector. Good evening, Mr. 
Lofty. (Bows coldly.) 

Augustus, Gwacious! I'm a cwushed man. {Exit 
Augustus, L.) 

Emma. One suitor disposed of to my satisfaction. 
(Calls.) Jack! 

Enter Jack, R., laughing. 

JacJc, Cousin Emma, can you tell me why you would 
be a good thing in the quartz regions? 

Emma. No. Why ? 

Jack. Because you are a crusher. You've crushed 
that fellow; he says so, at least. I heard the conver- 
sation, and laughed all over my head. I knew he'd be 
frightened, but I wasn't prepared to believe that he was 
quite so much of a sheep as he proved himself to be. 

Emma. But the play is not yet ended. John Mon- 
roe will be here to-night. I received a note from him 
a few minutes before Mr. Lofty arrived. I want you 
to place the boots again, as you say, in a life-like man- 
ner. It is possible they may be seen this time by other 
eyes than mine. Haste ! he is coming. (Exit Jack R., 
with boots.) 

Enter John Monroe, L. 

John. Good evening, Emma. 

Emma. Good evening. Be seated. 

John (seated). I met your friend, Mr. Lofty, a 
short distance up the street. 

Emma. Did he tell you he had been here? 

John. No. I spoke to him, but he seemed to be 
non-communicative, and scarcely replied to my salu- 
tation. But, Emma, I cannot remain long. I expect 
to leave the city to-morrow for a few days, and sent you 



AWFUL BOOTS 43 

the note saying I would call this evening. When I saw 
you last^ I told you I would return for my answer to- 
night or to-morrow nighty and now I await your reply. 
I have said all I can say. I am not wealthy, but will 
give you a comfortable home. My prospects are bright, 
and with you for my wife, I know I can be very happy. 
{Taking her hand,) Emma^ shall we walk together 
down life's pathway.^ 

Emma (rising). Excuse me a moment. {Exit 
Emma^ R,) 

John. I suppose she has gone to consult her aunt. 
{Takes up book.) Well, I can aiford to wait an hour, 
an hour and a half, or two hours, if she will but accept 
me. 

Reenter Emma, R., seemingly very much frightened. 

Emma. Oh, dear, there's an awful pair of boots 
under the sofa in the next room. 

John. Boots! Who's afraid of boots .^ I'll bring 
them out. 

Emma. Oh, but stop ! There's more than boots 
there. Don't go in, or you will be murdered. Uncle 
and aunt are away. 

John. Oh, I'll settle him in short order. What 
business has he coming into respectable people's houses. 
You see he is under the sofa, and can't fight worth a 
cent. Give me the poker. {Takes poker,) I'll put a 
stop to his burglarizing. You see, Emma, I'll get a 
hold of the boots and snatch him out before he can say 
Jack Robinson. 

Emma, But aren't you afraid? 

John. No, there's nothing to be afraid of. Stay 
here and keep out of the way if the rascal should try to 
shoot. But I'll disarm him. {Exit John, R.) 

Emma {laughing). Ha, ha! He'll find only the 
awful boots. He is the one who shall have this hand 
and this heart. He possessed the heart long ago, but I 
did not seem to know it. 



44 AWFUL BOOTS 

Enter John, R., laughing, 

John, Here's your burglar. Nothing but boots^ and 
they can scarcely be called awful. No shooting here 
to-night^ but (holding the boot-legs toward Emma) 
these might answer for miniature Quaker guns. I 
think this has been one of Jack's tricks^ to frighten 
you. 

Emma. I'll confess^ now. Jack planned the affair 
to find out whether you or Augustus Lofty was the 
braver man. 

John, Augustus Lofty ! What did he do } 

Emma, He ran away. 

John, Did he not try to capture the man, boots 
and all.^ 

Emma. No, he wouldn't even go into the room, and 
after I had tried in various ways to get him to do 
something, I ran in, brought out the boots, and told him 
all. He tried to treat it as a joke, but his terror was 
too real. No wonder he didn't talk to you to-night 
when you met him. 

Enter Jack, R., laughing. 

Jack, Oh, what jolly fun I've had to-night! 

Emma, And your little stratagem has helped me 
to choose the right man. {Turning to John.) John, 
I give you my answer : I will be your wife. 

John {taking her hand). You have made me a 
happy man. 

Emma. And I now feel that I have an arm to lean 
upon, a brave husband, and a kind protector. 

Jack. For which you ought to thank your cousin 
Jack and {pointing to boots) those Awful Boots. 
Curtain, 

H. E. McBride. 



AUCTION MAD 45 

AUCTION MAD 



CHARACTERS 

Mrs. Toodles^ A Woman with a Passion for Attending 

Auctions, 
Mr. ToodleSj Hei* Husband. 

Scene. — The dining-room of the Toodles' house — The 
table set for dinner; on a mantel at one side a huge 
door-plate, with the name Thompson upon it. 



Enter Mr, Toodles, Mrs, Toodles following him, 

Toodles. Oh^ don't dear Toodles me! You'll drive 
me to distraction. Your conduct is scandalous in the 
extreme. 

Mrs, Toodles, My dear Toodles^ don't say so! 

Toodles. But I will say so^ Mrs. Toodles. What 
will become of us^ w4th your passion of going to auc- 
tions^ and buying everything you see, because it's 
cheap .^ I say, Mrs. Toodles, where's the money; and 
echo answers, Where? 

Mrs. Toodles, I'm sure, my dear Toodles, I lay it 
out to the best advantage. 

Toodles. You shall not squander and waste my 
means. 

Mrs. Toodles, My dear, I buy nothing but what's 
useful. 

Toodles, Useful — useless you mean. I won't have 
my house turned into a hospital for invalid furniture. 
At the end of the week, I ask, where's the money? 
All gone to — spent in cursed nonsense. 

Mrs, Toodles, My love, although they are of no use 
to you at present, we may want them; and how useful 
it will be to have them in the house! 

Toodles, Why, Mrs. Toodles, the house is full 
already of damaged chairs and dilapidated tables, 
sofas with one leg, washstands with two legs, chairs 



46 AUCTION MAD 

with three legs, and some without a leg to stand upon. 

Mrs. T oodles, I'm sure you can't find fault with 
the last bargain I bought. 

Toodles. What is it? 

Mrs, Toodles, A pair of crutches. 

Toodles, A pair of crutches ! What use are they to 
me, Mrs. T. ? 

Mrs. Toodles, No, none at present. But you 
might meet with an accident ; and then how handy it will 
be to have them in the house ! 

Toodles, Oh ! here's a woman goes to an auction, 
and buys a pair of crutches in anticipation that her hus- 
band will break his legs. But look what you did the 
other day ; when this railroad was finished out here, why 
curse me ! if you did not buy forty-three wheelbarrows, 
— some with wheels, and some without wheels. And 
then again, before this new system of police was intro- 
duced, we had watchmen and watch-boxes; now our 
police have stars on their breasts, and the corporation 
abolished watch-boxes. They were all put up at 
auction; and I'll be hanged if you didn't buy ninety- 
three watch-boxes ! 

Mrs, Toodles, Now, my dear Toodles, how unrea- 
sonable you are! You don't know but they will be 
wanted ; and then how handy it will be to have them in 
the house ! 

Toodles. That's your old excuse. We have wheel- 
barrows in the yard, watch-boxes in the cellar, wheel- 
barrows and watch-boxes all over the house. The pigs 
eat out of the wheelbarrows; and the cows sleep in 
the watch-boxes. 

Mrs. Toodles. Now, my dear Toodles, don't that 
prove their utility? 

Toodles, When I came home the other night, I 
tumbled into something, and broke my shins. I called 
Jane to bring a light. I found myself in a watch-box. 
What was your last purchase? The other day I saw 
a cart before the door, and two men carrying into the 
house — a door-plate. 



AUCTION MAD 47 

Mrs, Toodles. My dear Toodles — 

Toodles, And the name of Thompson^ upon it^ — 
Thompson with a p. Mrs. Toodles, if I were not in- 
nately a sober man, you would drive me to an extreme 
case of drinking. Well, what was your reason for buy- 
ing the door-plate ? " Toodles, my dear," says you, 
" we may have a daughter, and that daughter may be 
a female, and live to the age of maturity ; and she may 
marry a man of the name of Thompson with sl p; then, 
how handy it will be to have it in the house ! " 

Mrs, Toodles, And won't it, dear ? 

Toodles. You had it stuck over the mantel-piece; 
and when I come down to breakfast, or home to dinner, 
there's that odious name of Thompson looking me in 
the face. If I had a daughter, and I caught a man of 
the name of Thompson making love to her, I'd break 
his head with that door-plate. 

Mrs, Toodles, But, my dear Toodles — 

Toodles, Yes, Mrs. T., I say religiously, morally, 
sincerely, and emphatically, " Curse Thompson ! '' But 
I went to the auction, too, to-day. I've got a present 
for you. I thought it quite a bargain. 

Mrs, Toodles. What is it, eh, dear? 

Toodles, As soon as I saw it I said to myself, " It 
M^ill be just the fit for my dear Tabitha ! " 

Mrs, Toodles, Don't plague me. What is it, eh, 
dear } 

Toodles, I think I can see you looking so nice and 
comfortable in it! 

Mrs. Toodles, Well, why don't you tell me what it 
is? 

Toodles, Just your fit. A nice brass plate on it, 
and varnished all over. 

Mrs, Toodles, Yes, yes ; and it is — 

Toodles, A coffin, my love. 

Mrs, Toodles, Oh,. you brute! 

Toodles, We don't want it just now; but we don't 
know what may happen ; and then how handy it will be 
to have it in the house ! 



48 MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR 

Mrs. Toodles. Oh^ you wretch^ you'll be the death 
of me. 

Toodles, Will I ? It's lucky I bought the coffin. 
{Exit, followed hy Mrs. Toodles,) 

From *' The Toodles." 



MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR 

A Comic Dialogue for Five Males, 



CHARACTERS 

John Thompson, Literateur, 

Captain Flash, One of the Criminal Class. 

Chevalier Henri de Frauda, A French Adventurer. 

Ben Bowsprit, A Sailor. 

Terence O'Toole, A Hibernian Gentleman. 

Scene. — A well-furnished apartment. Mr. John 
Thompson in a dressing gown, just about to open his 
morning letters, his dress coat hung over the back of 
the large easy chair he is seated in. 



Thom. Now, is not this the most insufferable 
nuisance that eyer fell to the lot of a rational human 
being to encounter.^ What a most consummate ass my 
landlord must be to have let the next house to a man 
who not only rejoices in the same patronymic as myself 
— Thompson, but also has the effrontery to be pos- 
sessed of the same baptismal cognomen — John ! The 
consequence of this existence of a double edition of 
John Thompson in the small space of two consecutive 
doors in the same street, and the said doors being with- 
out the usual numerical distinction, is perfectly appal- 
ling ! I receive his letters — he receives mine. I am 
pestered with his acquaintances and — hem! creditors, 
who, notwithstanding my repeated and most emphatic 



MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR 49 

assurances that I am not the John Thompson with whom 
their business lies^ persist in making my dwelling a con- 
stant place of call^ to the serious and almost irretriev- 
able detriment of my new volume on " The Mutability 
of the Human Understanding/' which must be ready 
for the press by the 10th of next month, and of which, 
notwithstanding my most strenuous and almost incon- 
ceivable exertions, I have not written above four pages 
during the last three days, owing to this unflagging and 
pernicious nuisance. Now, there are no less than six 
letters this morning; I dread to open them, and yet I 
have no option, — if I send them to the villainous plun- 
derer of my appellation next door, they may be mine — 
and if I open and read them, I may be unintentionally 
penetrating the veil of mystery which clouds the pro- 
ceedings of the unprincipled individual who has robbed 
me at once of the necessary peace of mind conducive 
to good health, together with my true and lawful name. 
The immortal Bard of Avon has hit my case to a hair — 

■he who filches from me my good name 



Robs me of that which not enriches him, 
But leaves me poor indeed. 

This is my exact situation, and now for these half- 
dozen sealed up terrors. {He opens the first letter,) 
Ah! what is this? (Reads,) 

" My dear uncle — {surely it can't he from — nOy it's 
signed George,) I write this from limbo — (7 never 
heard of such a place) — having been out upon the 
loose, — (ah! that's a new term for being too fast) — 
I have been collared by the blues. — (blues! that's plain 
black and white) — and iined twenty dollars; as I had 
not the ready, I was penned — (50 is the letter^ and 
very badly) — for thirty daySo Do, dear uncle, post 
the stump, — (post! stumps! he must be making some 
references to the letter booses in the streets). — I have 
sent a pal of mine who will call upon you to-morrow 
for the rhino. Your dutiful nephew, GeorgEo^^ 

Now, in the whole course of my existence^ I never 



50 MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR 

had a nephew named George; this must be a case of 
John TKompson next door, so I place this down as 
nuisance No. 1 — now for the next. {Opens the sec- 
ond letter and reads.) 

" Mr. John Thompson, Dr. to Archibald Shears, — " 

Why, confound it, this is a tailor's bill! It cannot, 
by the most remote possibility, belong to me, so I put 
it down as nuisance No. 2. (Opens the third letter 
and reads.) 

" Monsieur Tonson, — Haiing heard of votre grand 
encouragement of ze world scientifique, I vill take to 
mon self se honneur of to visite for you en le jour of ze 
morrow, et vill to parlez-vous in ze account of mon 
grand invention for ze locomotives undare ze vatare. 
I sail to explain all ze hon av ant age of ze scheme to 
votre plaisir et satisfaction. Votre servant humbale, le 
Chevalier Henri de Frauda." 

There you are! nuisance No. 3. What encourage- 
ment did ever I give to such a swindling rascal .^^ This 
letter cannot be mine ; no, I utterly discard such an idea, 
and proceed with my researches. (Opens fourth 
letter.) 

" Honored Sir, — I hear as how you is a kind friend 
to the poor sailors, and as I have been laid up in port 
to repair damages, and am now ready to hoist the blue 
peter again, I shall board you to-morrow, and request 
your honor to lend me a supply of ballast in order to 
keep care under hatches until I get a berth. Your 
honor's servant to command, Ben Bowsprit." 

Was ever mortal breathing so robbed of his valuable 
time by such villainous compounds of impudence and 
folly before ? Now I cannot say that this letter is not 
mine, as it is evidently, as far as I can make out its 
mysterious phraseology, a begging letter ; but the worst 
of the matter is that the fellow intends to call here, or, 
as he facetiously calls it, to " board me." I'll take 
care he finds me *' under hatches," and snugly too. — 
Nuisance No. 4; now for No. 5. (Opens another.) 

" John Acushla,— I write to inform you that I left 



MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR 51 

Ballysloughguttery last Friday^ good luck^ and I'm 
coming over to your darlint country to pay you a visit. 
If sister Biddy is in good health I'll be glad to come, 
but if she is not, write and tell me, and I'll turn back 
again if I receive your letter before I leave home. 
Your brother-in-law, Terence O'Toole. P.S. — If you 
don't get this letter write and let me know, and I'll send 
you another. I ran after the postman to put this in the 
letter, but he was gone, and I couldn't overtake him." 
Confound the whole lot ! my adverse fate must not 
only compel me to peruse the idiotic effusions of a lot 
of asses like these, but must actually find me a brother- 
in-law, and that in such an outlandish place as " Bally- 
sloughguttery," wherever that is. This, of course, be- 
longs to my incessantly troublesome neighbor; nuisance 
No. 5. Thank heaven there's only another! (Opens 
the last letter,) 

" Dear Sir, — In consequence of the demise of our 
respected client, Mr. Adolphus Thompson, you are left 
heir-at-law to his estate. Should you think proper to 
allow us to continue our services to you in the capacity 
of your legal advisers, we shall be happy to accept the 
responsibility. Your most humble servants, Catchem 
& Cheatem." 

Ah, there is some sense in this; this must be mine; 
but whoever Mr. Adolphus Thompson is, or was, I have 
not the remotest idea. Now if this should belong to my 
neighbor, — Oh, it's quite impossible, there can't be two 
real John Thompsons, nature forbids ! (A Jcnock at 
the door heard,) 

Hallo ! who is this ? 

Bow, {without). In do you say? I 'It wait on his 
honor. 

Enter Ben Bowsprit, 

Bow, (bows and scrapes). Mornin', sir; I'm come 
to — but I may as well bring myself to an anchor. 
(Takes a chair.) You see, your honor, we sailors never 



52 MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR 

palaver whilst we carry sail^ but when we heave to and 
drop anchor we're ready for action in an instant, 
broadside to broadside, so now to fire away. 

Thorn, But I beg you'll not fire away until — 

Bow. Till IVe hauled my wind, you would say; 
never fear, I'm as full of good wind as the mains'l on 
a breezy day; so I'll make sail without tacking, and fol- 
low my course as straight as the bowsprit of a seventy- 
four, and if you will follow in my wake you'll see my 
meaning as clear as the top lights of a man o' war. 

Thorn. But I hope you'll not — 

Bow. Swerve from my course, — no, no, your honor, 
it shall be all plain sailing. You must know, your 
honor, that I belonged to the *' Billy rough 'em " 
seventy-four, and was stationed in the mizzen top, when 
one night, as Bill Backstay and me were at our station 
in the middle watch, what should we see but — ^ 

Thorn. But I don't want to know • — 

Bow. What it was we saw ; I dare say not, but how 
can I get to the end of my voyage if you stop me afore 
I've left port ? Well, your honor, as I was telling you. 
Bill and me were in the mizzen top — 

Thorn. Well, but you — 

Bow. Said that before — so I did, but it was all 
through your making me lose steerage way that I had 
to say it again. So Bill says to me, says he, " Ben, do 
you see yonder? " and he points his finger over to lee- 
ward, and I followed the course with my eyes, and I 
saw a black obj ect like a dolphin's back — 

Thorn. But I must insist on — 

Bow. Knowing what it was — I'm coming to that, 
sir, if you will keep quiet. So I sings out to the officer 
of the watch, and reported; and the officer went and 
reported to the skipper, and the skipper ordered a boat 
to be manned and put off to see what it was. Well, 
we hove to, and ran the helm hard-a starboard till the 
boat returned, and, — 

Thorn. Now will you — 

Bow. Tell you what it was — to be sure I will, but 



MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR 5S 

you are in such a hurry to run me down that I can't tell 
which way I'm steering. Well^ the cox'n reports a 
boat, keel upwards and nothing in her. 

Thorn, Did ever — 

Bow, Anybody see a boat keel upwards with anyone 
in her, you would be axing. Aye, aye, many a time, 
when I was in the old '* Die-a-Maid," sixty guns, off 
Demerary, there was the pinnace upset in a squall, and 
Harry Hatchway — 

Thorn. Confound Harry Hatchway and you too! 
(They both rise.) 

Bow. What's amiss, your honor .^ 

Thorn, What do you mean by coming to me with 
your long stories about boats with their keels upwards, 
eh.^ 

Bow, Ax pardon, if I've offended you; Ben Bow- 
sprit doesn't want to do anything that's not above 
board, but I was told to come here, as your honor was a 
friend to sailors in distress, and fond of helping an old 
salt out of berth. 

Thorn. It's a fabrication — what do you take me 
for.?^ 

Bow, They told me as how your name was John 
Thompson. 

Thorn. It's that confounded abortion of humanity 
next door he wants ! Hark you — I am not John 
Thompson. 

Bow, But your name is on the brass plate outside 
the door. 

Thorn. Aye — there he has me. I wish that rob- 
ber of my name would steal the plate too. Look you, 
friend Bowsprit, the John Thompson you want lives 
next door, and if you will only go there^ and make 
yourself as tedious as you have done here, I will give 
you half-a-dollar, and thank you in the bargain. 

Bow, Tip me the half-dollar, your honor, and I'll 
go at once; I can spin my yarns as long again when 
there's shot in the locker. 

Thorn. Pray heaven you may (gives Bowsprit the 



54 MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR 

money, who retires). There^ that is what I call a small 
piece of sweet satisfaction; to think of my sending that 
sailoring fellow to plague that incubus of mine next 
door^ with his horrible jargon and unmeaning trash; 
I never did a more pleasant piece of business in my 
life^ nor ever laid out half-a-doUar to better advantage. 
Eureka! my vengeance will be felt! {Sits down.) 
Now I wonder who Adolphus Thompson was ! He must 
have been a relative of mine^ or the firm of Catchem & 
Cheatem would not have written me so business-like a 
letter; they are too clever to make any mistake in my 
identity. Of course the miserable pretender next door 
cannot have the slightest claim to relationship with such 
a distinguished man as Adolphus Thompson. {Knock- 
ing — Thompson starts to his feet.) 

Chevalier (without). I tank you, I will do mon self 
ze plaisir to vait upon you. 

Enter Chevalier Henri de Frauda. 

Chev. Ah, monsieur, comment vous portez-vous? I 
shall presume zat you be Monsieur Tonson, ze grand 
feelantropeest, et ze bon homme zat encourage ze sci- 
ence. 

Thorn. Sir, I must press you — 

Chev. *' Mus press," ah, vere is mon dictionnaire. 
{Takes out a dictionary.) Ah, here is — press, to 
squeeze — zat is von grand embrace ; you must press 
me, you must embrace me; vith plaisir. Monsieur. 
{Embraces him warmly.) 

ThoTu. Upon my soul this is a most extraordinary 
dilemma ! Sir, I received your letter, and am sorry 
to say that I cannot abet, — 

Chev. " A bet," zat is von grand vager — you can- 
not bet vager, bon, ver goot! 

Thorn. I beg you will suspend — 

Chev. " Soospend," mon dictionnaire — ah, soos- 
pehd, zat is to hang, you beg I vill hang, vat sail I 
hang. Monsieur? 

Thom. You do not comprehend me, sir, I mean — 



MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR 55 

Chev. " Mean/' — zat is low et vulgare^ I do not say 
zat you be low et vulgare^ I not so insult mes amis. 

Thorn. Sir^ I am quite fast — 

Chev, Ah^ ** fast_," mon dictionnaire^ fast^ ah^ 
quick^ speedy zat is you be fast^ quick^ bon! Zat is 
goot — you be quick_, haste^ expeditione ! 

Thorn, Whatever shall I do without an interpreter? 
I find it very hard sir^ to — 

Chev, '' Hard/' bon ! hard_, zat is solid^ not to be 
break. 

Thorn. No_, no^ I do not mean solid^ your ideas run 
so fast — 

Chev. Ah ! fast again — mon dictionnaire — fast, 
zat is fixed_, firm^ not to move — you say mon idea firm, 
not to move, goot! so zey be; I vill now do mon self ze 
honneur to explain ze sub jet of mon grand invention, 
vich you sail find zat — 

Thorn. It gives me great pain to — 

Chev. " Pane " — ah, zat is ze vindow vit ze glass ; 
ah, you sail see ze ting as easy as in ze vindow pane, as 
you say. 

Thom. (aside), I shall go mad. The more I try to 
explain, the worse I get; I must give him a hint he can- 
not misunderstand. (Aloud.) Sir, J beg to wish you 
good morning. {Turns away from him.) 

Chev. Ah, you be going; veil, I vill not stop you;" 
bon jour, monsieur, adieu! I sail stay till your re- 
turn. 

Thom. Why, the fellow will turn me out of my own 
house next! Sir, I am busy, I cannot talk to you at 
present; if you will call another time, I shall be much 
obliged — 

Chev. ** Oblige," ah, mon dictionnaire — oblige, zat 
is to force, to compel; veil, monsieur, I sail be compel 
to call at von oder time, as you say; so I vill take ze 
honneur of to say, au revoir. {Exit Chevalier.) 

Thom. This is what I call pleasant; here I am, in 
my own house, invaded by a horde of the most insup- 
portable annoyances, and have no remedy. Oh, my 



56 MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR 

poor volume! my unfortunate volume! shall I never 
have a few hours' leisure to vrrite a few lines towards 
thy completion^ or will the image of thy most in- 
defatigable^ although unconscious^ enemy — my ter- 
rible namesake — stand ever in thy way ! Oh^ John 
Thompson (I mean John Thompson No. 2), you little 
think what trouble in mind^ what horrible dreams, and 
what distress of body you are bringing upon your un- 
willingly-alike-named prototype — John Thompson 
No. 1 ! But now I reflect upon the unavoidable cer- 
tainty of our similar nomenclature, what a fine idea it 
brings to bear upon the subject of my book. I will 
give it embodiment in words whilst it is fresh in my 
mind. (Sits down and writes; knock heard,) 

Thorn, (starts up). Was ever a man so pestered? 

Enter Captain Flash 

Flash. A nice crib this. Hallo, guv'ner, allow me 
to introduce myself as Captain Flash. (Bows,) 

Thorn. And pray, what business may Captain Flash 
have with me.^ 

Flash. Why, don't you see, Mr. What's-his-name — 
that is, Thompson — 

Thorn. And pray, sir, how came you by the knowl- 
edge that my name is Thompson? 

Flash. Oh, I'm fly ! 

Thorn. You're " fly " ! And pray, sir, what do you 
mean by " fly " ? 

Flash, Up to the knocker, eh? You don't get over 
me ! (Puts his finger to his nose,) 

Thorn. And what is the meaning of that expression 
and sign? and what is your business? 

Flash. I'll tell you in the shaking of a wipe — I 
come from George. 

Thorn. From George! And who is George? 

Flash. Oh, don't try snooks with me; George is my 
good pal, and you are hunk. I know all about it. 

Thorn. Will you explain what ** snooks " and 
** hunk " mean ? 



MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR 57 

Flash. Why^ I patter plain enough; George sent 
you a scribble about it^ didn't he? 

Thorn, (aside), I begin to understand; — a light 
dawns upon me — this is the nephew's friend. 
(Aloud,) And pray^ what does George 'want with 



me 



? 



Flash. Why_, you see^ George is a good pal in the 
main^ in fact he's a regular brick; and you know he 
couldn't go out for a lark without doing the heavy. 

Thorn, x\nd what is doing the '* heavy? " 

Flash, Oh. he sided a lot of swipes^ till he was 
pretty well cut^ and then he went on the twisting lay. 

Thorn. " The twisting lay? " 

Flash. Yes ; the knocker business^ you know. We'd 
bagged about a score of knockers when the blues inter- 
fered; well, the first one got a slogger in the bread 
basket — 

Thorn. Good gracious ! Who had the " bread 
basket?" 

Flash, Ha, ha ! You're not so green as all that. 
George rattled another's ivories with a knock in the 
kissing-trap ; but one of our pals getting a rap on the 
knowledge-box with a staff, gave in, and the blues 
nabbed him; and to save his bacon he blowed the gaff. 

Thorn. And what, in the name of reason, is '' blow- 
ing the gaff? " 

Flash. Why, to get himself out of grab, he peached 
on George, and nosed him to the beaks. 

Thorn. *' Nosed him to the beaks?" Why the 
deuce don't you speak plain English? How can I un- 
derstand such gibberish? 

Flash. Don't you see what I mean? George was 
snapped and taken before the beak, who fined him, and 
as he hadn't got the brads, they sent him to the jug 
for thirty days, and I've come for the sugar to get him 
out. 

Thorn. *' Sugar!" And what can sugar have to 
do with all this ? 

Flash. Bless your innocent heart, I mean blunt. 



58 MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR 

Thorn. Your meaning may be blunt, for I cannot 
see any point in it. I am as much in the dark as ever. 

Flash, We want you to flash the tin, George says 
you must have plenty of rhino now his uncle Adolphus 
has kicked — 

Thorn. Stop! His uncle Adolphus? 

Flash. The very cove; I see I'm all right. 

Thorn, That's a settler! Then uncle Adolphus is 
no relation of mine^ an Catchem & Cheatem's letter was 
simply nuisance No. 6 ! And now^ Captain Flash, I 
wish you good morning; this letter from George I 
freely present you with, as your credential of introduc- 
tion to George's real uncle, who lives next door, and I 
hope that you will find him willing either to " post 
the stump," ** find the sugar," ** flash the tin," or to 
come forward with some of uncle Adolphus's ** rhino." 
Good morning! 

Flash. Well, I'm dashed — if this isn't a queer cull, 
may my best friend snitch, — ta, ta, old hunk! (Ea;it 
Flash.) 

Thorn, Gone at last, the Fates be praised — why, 
this fellow was infinitely more annoying than the 
Frenchman, with his dictionary. I think it would ma- 
terially improve the conversation of Captain Flash if he 
also carried one of those useful references. But oh, 
what an intense satisfaction I feel in the knowledge 
that my intolerable namesake will have to submit to 
the maddening influences of the erudite conversation of 
Captain Flash. I hope, from my soul, he will stay 
with him all day — dine with him, sleep with him, and 
utterly prostrate him with Flash on the brain before he 
leaves him — and serve him right ; why has he come 
here to be a perpetual incumbrance upon my privacy.^ 
It ought to be made penal for two men of the same 
name — especially such an uncommon name as John 
Thompson — to live in the same street. As for his du- 
tiful nephew, George, or any other relative he may be 
fortunate enough to possess, if my late visitor be a 
sample of their associations, I most decidedly object 



MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR 59 

to entertain any thought of depriving him of their kind 
sympathies. {Knock at the door,) What — another 
arrival ! shall I never have an hour's peace to-day ? 

Terence {without). Ah^ get out o' that^ ye dirty 
spalpeens ! 

Thorn. Eternal powers — it's the Irishman ! 

Enter Terence O'Toole, with his coat torn up to his 
collar behind. 

Ter. A mighty fine things sure^ that I can't come to 
your dirty town^ but all the gossoons must be running 
afther me_, an' shouting *' Paddy whack! Paddy 
whack ! " By my sowl_, but I gave them one or two 
whacks they'll not rub out in a hurry^ at all at all. 
Faith^ an' they've torn my illigant coat^ that Dennis 
O'Brien made me to come in^ all to smithereens. If 
I'd been a bit of an omadhaun, they'd have left me 
nothing but the armholes. John, ma houchal, how are 
ye? An' how's Biddy? Bedad, I'll lave ye in charge 
of this fine garmint, and borrow this ould rag of yours. 
{Takes off his coat, and exchanges it for Thompson's 
which is hung on the chair.) 

Thorn. Stop, stop, what are you doing? 

Ter. Troth, don't you see what I'm doing, John ! 

Thorn. But I'm not John ! 

Ter. Bad luck to ye, do ye want to make an 
omadhaun of me? Sure isn't your name outside your 
dirty door, and don't I now your ugly phiz as well as 
if I'd seen it before? D'ye think I'd be mistaken in 
you as I was in Phelim McCarthy that I met in the 
Phanix the day before I sailed — didn't I think it was 
Phelim, and didn't Phelim think it was me, till we got 
close up, and then, by my sowl, it was neither of us — 
d'ye think after that that I'd be mistaken in you, that 
I never saw before ? Och, hubbaboo ! where's Biddy ? 

Thorn. Biddy's not here, and I tell you I am not 
John — John lives next door. 

Ter. Aisy now, aisy, d'ye want to persuade me that 
you live next door to yourself — how can that be unless 



60 MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR 

you was your twin brother ? Bad luck to me, but you're 
as bad as Murty Daley/ that always had to sleep in the 
next room for fear of waking himself wid snoring. 
Where's Biddy, I tell ye? 

Thorn. I've got no Biddy, — I don't know Biddy ! 

Ter. Bad scran to ye, what d'ye mane by that? 
Didn't our Biddy disgrace herself and all her pos- 
therity before her wid marrying a dirty spalpeen like 
yourself, and giving all her fortune in the bargain? 
And see now how thankful ye are, ye blackguard ! 

Thorn. But I don't know anything about — 

Ter, An' who said ye did — can't ye keep your ugly 
mouth shut whilst a gintleman spakes to ye? Didn't 
my father, ould Barty O'Toole, of Castle O'Toole, in 
Ballysloughguttery, lave all his property to my mother, 
and half of the rest to myself, and the other half to 
our Mick, and the remainder to Biddy? And wasn't 
there the illigant mud-cabin at Castle O'Toole, an' the 
three-cornered potato field, an' the cow, an' the pig, 
an' the poulthry? 

Thorn. But I do not know — 

Ter, D'ye think we'd be fools enough to let you 
know it, or to let Biddy bring any of her fortune to a 
dirty blackguard like you? An' now ye want to dis- 
own ye'r relations an' to keep Biddy from me; wait a 
bit till I go an' fetch Terry O'Reagan, wid his jewel- 
lin' pistols, an' ye shall either spill some rale ould Irish 
blood, or I'll draw out the last drop of the dirty puddle 
ye have in your ugly body — stop where you are, for 
if I find ye gone when I come back, I'll let a hole 
through ye where ye stand big enough to bury a cat 
in. {Eojit Terence,) 

Thorn. This is horrible ! I certainly shall not wait 
until he comes back with his ** jewelling pistols," — and 
the wretch has gone off with my dress coat; I cannot 
go out without a coat, and stay I dare not — I must 
put on the wretched garment he has left (puts it on), 
and call in the police to protect me from the blood- 
thirsty violence of my would-be brother-in-law. If 



AT CROSS PURPOSES 61 

Biddy is only equal to the family sample I have seen, 
I sincerely pity my unfortunate namesake, and will 
only too gladly yield him the field by removing just as 
far as I can from the baneful influence of 

My Next Door Neighbor. 

Curtain, 



AT CROSS PURPOSES 

A Conjugal Duologue, 



CHARACTERS 

Edward, A Bridegroom, 
Lucy, His Bride, 

Scene. — Reception room of a hotel. Right, a door. 
Left, a practicable closet. 



Enter Lucy, 

Lucy {enters briskly, closes the door, looks around 
her). Nobody here? I suppose somebody will come 
presently. {Sits down,) Oh! I'm all of a flutter! 
(Pause.) Is nobody coming.^ {Opens door timidly.) 
Waiter! {Pause,) Waiter! He doesn't hear me — 
must be asleep — a queer hotel, truly — I had better 
call louder — no, I won't do that — it might disturb 
people — Even if he came, what can I say.'* — What 
explanation can I make for coming to a hotel at mid- 
night, alone — without my husband. And yet I have 
a husband, but I left him at the railroad station — a 
fact — and now I suppose he is hunting for me every- 
where — asking everybody he meets whether they have 
seen his wife — Yes, a while ago, in the cars, he had the 
impudence to call me his wife. — The only passenger in 
our car was an old fellow — reading the Tribune — 
opened out, so that it hid us from his view. — My hus- 



62 AT CROSS PURPOSES 

band edged up to me — close up — ^ I could feel his 
breath in my ear — I do believe he wanted to kiss me - — 
but I moved away from him, and all he said was " my 
little wife ! '' Such impertinence ! to call me his wife ! 

— and he had left only a moment before another 
woman — Oh ! I saw him with my own eyes ! 

Oh ! what I have gone through ! it^s scarcely credible 

— It began this morning at church — at the very 
altar — the clergyman had j ust completed our marriage 
ceremon}^, and was pronouncing the benediction, when 
I heard a heart-broken sob behijid me. I said to myself 

— what a sob ! it must be poor mamma. — Not a bit of 
it — I looked — there was mamma, as cool as a cucum- 
ber, talking to a lady. — But I spied a young woman — 
half-hidden by a pillar — hot tears running down her 
cheeks — plainly dressed — but nice. — Then other 
matters — at a time like that, you know — took away 
my attention — and the ceremony being over, we 
reached the vestibule. My wraps were soon adjusted 
and ready to depart. I looked around for my husband 

— nowhere — " He'll be here in a moment " — his best 
man said that — ** He is talking to a lady." A lady ? 
said I — What lady ? — I looked — there he was — 
talking to the lady who had been crying. She went 
away — he came back to me — quite embarrassed. 

My curiosity was piqued — I'm sure I had good 
cause — I asked papa who she was. — He said he didn't 
know her — perhaps some relative of his. — Well, now, 
I felt a little suspicious — what should she cry for? — 
I had read, only a few days before, in a novel — how a 
young man, married a girl for her money — and an- 
other girl, whom he loved and loved him — threw 
vitriol in his face at the wedding — to be sure, in this 
case there was no vitriol — but it looked rather sus- 
picious. — Then I thought — perhaps the poor girl 
loves him — came to bid him a last farewell — poor 
girl — I suppose such things happen sometimes — I 
suppose I looked serious — for mamma said " What*s 
the matter, pet } " I answered — Oh, it's nothing — 



AT CROSS PURPOSES 63 

I feel a little confused, of course. — Then followed the 
wedding breakfast — excitement — congratulations — 
at last, at eight o'clock we — Edward and I — took the 
train to Washington. — The first part of the journey 
everything went well — at least, my husband said very 
little — looked terribly annoyed, though — that old fel- 
low sitting right opposite us, staring at every word we 
said — at last — the wretch opened out his newspaper 

— just then, we stopped at Baltimore — My husband 
got out on to the platform — said he wanted to get some 
cigar-lighters — He seemed to be a good while getting 
them, so I looked out of the window — What do you 
think I saw? Him! Yes! — My husband standing 
at the door of another car — talking — with whom ? — 
with the lady who cried at the wedding — she had fol- 
lowed us — or — perhaps — my husband had per- 
suaded her to come — Oh — it's just too horrible! 

— (pause). Presently my fine gentleman comes back, 
the very picture of tranquillity — Oh ! I felt like 
screaming — but I hated to raise a scandal. I con- 
trolled myself — till we arrived at Washington. Then 

— while he was looking after our baggage — I slipped 
away, got into a cab — and here I am — I shall take 
the very next train back again — and return to my 
parents — {falls into a chair and cries, then rising, 
resolutely). No — no tears — I am outraged — my 
resolution is taken. I can't stay here all night — I 
must have a private room — perhaps somebody will 
come presently — I'll wait a while longer. (Laughs,) 
My husband ! I wonder what he'll say — I should like 
to have seen him, after he had seen to our luggage, 
coming and looking everywhere for me — He must be 
in an awful fluster — all alone — alone ? No — there's 
the other one — she can console him — Oh ! it's simply 
abominable — I'll get a divorce — he has made it 
necessary — all I need is a good lawyer — Why — to 
be sure — there's Goodwin — poor James Goodwin — 
I think I should have married him, only this one came 
between — this one — is an architect — mamma said I 



64 AT CROSS PURPOSES 

should never marry any one but an architect — poor 
James — why wasn't he an architect? — {Pause.) 
Oh^ well ! I don't care for him a bit — but mamma al- 
ways said — Lucy — you shall marry a man of your 
own choice — Well^ I made my choice — and then she 
persuaded me to marry some one else — I had five dis- 
tinct offers — and 

Edward {outside the door), I'll have to wait! 

Lucy. Great heavens ! My husband ! 

Edward {outside) . Hurry — now ! 

Lucy. Where shall I go — ah! this door! {Opens 
door and enters closet, closing the door behind her.) 

Enter Edward. 

Edward {excitedly). Pretty state of things — Wait 

— I must wait ! — everywhere I go^ I must wait ! I 
can't wait — after what has happened — I've lost — 
no — I've mislaid my wife — my wife — only since 
noon — to-day — no — yesterday — one o'clock at 
night — it's to-morrow — Who ever heard of such a 
thing? If you read it in the papers — you wouldn't 
believe it. — Nobody would believe it — and yet 
it is. — Not an hour ago — we arrived at the 
depot — I went to look after our luggage — back in a 
moment — she was gone — gone — somebody has car- 
ried her off — she was simple and innocent — some- 
body has made her believe I sent him for her — and 
she went with him — Oh ! it's abominable — Thank 
heaven she's a sensible girl — she'll soon find out 
what's happened — but how will sh@ ever find me? 
Oh! the scoundrel! If I only get hold of him — Oh! 
I'll massacre him — There was only one other pas- 
senger with us — that old wretch with the newspaper 

— Can it be he ? I'll kill him ! — But inhere is shef — 
Can't find any trace of her — been to all the hotels but 
this one — no tidings of her — here, they tell me no 
one has arrived to-night. What a lovely wedding-day. 

— If you saw it in the papers — you wouldn't believe 
it. But I must find her. What shall I say to her 



AT CROSS PURPOSES 65 

parents ? My wife lost ! What will they think ? — I 
must find her! (Goes to door, calls off,) Waiter! — 
somebody ! — No answer — Ah — I think I heard some 
one out there. (Goes to closet door, opens it, staHs 
hack.) My wife!! — My wife^ hiding in a closet? — 

Lucy (confused). Oh — Edward — 

Edward, What's the meaning of this? 

Lucy, I thought this was a bedroom door, other- 
wise — 

Edward, Otherwise? Well? 

Lucy (angrily). Leave me — sir! (Shuts herself 
in again,) 

Edward (excited). Eh! What! — she avoids me! 

— (opens the door again,) Come out ! 
Lucy. I won't, 

Edward, Come out, I say — you can't stay in there 

— What in the world is the meaning of this ? 

Lucy (comes out quietly, avoids him, goes towards 
the other door). Don't touch me! don't dare to come 
near to me! 

Edward (stupe-fled). Great heavens ! I've married 
a crazy woman! (To her,) Oh! come — explain — 
(Advances towards her, she retreats.) Oh! horrible — 
it must be — crazy ! ! What shall I do ? 

Lucy (aside), I cannot remain here. (Goes 
towards door,) 

Edward, Where are you going? 

Lucy, Right back home — to my family — 

Edward, What? alone? 

Lucy, Alone — certainly — alone. 

Edward. But why? What — what's the matter? 

Lucy, You know perfectly well — 

Edward. I? This is unendurable! 

Lucy. Don't attempt to hinder me — If you dare 
to, I will call for help — I will claim the protection of 
the law — 

Edward, Protection! — The law! (Vacantly and 
wildly). Oh ! this must be some horrible dream — Just 
now at the depot — now at a hotel — I suppose pres- 



66 AT CROSS PURPOSES 

ently the scene will change again — it will be a forest 
: — a precipice — that's the way it is in dreams — 
(Strikes his forehead repeatedly,) Oh! wake up! 
wake up! (Walks about distractedly.) 

Lucy (aside). How he frightens me! His head 
seems completely wandering — 

Edward (turning towards her). But is it? Can 
it be ? all real ? Lucy ! 

Lucy. Farewell — sir. 

Edward, For pity's sake — one word — ^What does this 
all mean? Someone has carried you off? Is it not so? 

Lucy. What ? 

Edward. Was it that man with the Tribune? He 
told you that I was waiting for you here? And you 
followed him -— 

Lucy. What? I follow? — are you crazy? 

Edward. Til kill him! I'll strangle the hound! 
And that's why you won't look at me ? 

Lucy. I don't understand a word of it — 

Edward. Don't understand? 

Lucy. No^ sir — listen to me. — It was I — myself 
— that left you — of my own free will — 

Edward. Left — me ? You — 

Lucy. It was about time — high time. I saw her. 

Edward. Her ? — Who^ then ? 

Lucy, You know whom I mean. 

Edward. No ! 

Lucy. That woman — who cried at our wedding — 
That woman — the same one — that you talked to in 
the church — the same one that you talked to again at 
Baltimore — in the next car to us — 

Edward (inquiringly). Woman? in the church — at 
Baltimore. — What in the world do you mean ? 

Lucy. Yes — that woman — that nobody knew, but 
you — your darling — the minx — that you brought 
with you, right here — 

Edward (smiling). She! what, FanchonI 

Lucy. I don't care to hear her name — you can have 
her — Fanchon — name and all — 



AT CROSS PURPOSES 67 

Edward {sits down, laughing heartily^, Fanny — 
Oh ! that's too good ! Fanny — the minx — my love — 
Why ! my dear — she's your new maid. 

Lucy, What ? 

Edward. Yes — Fanchon — your lady's maid — a 
French girl — first class — and you took her for — 
Oh ! it would be actually insulting to me if it were not 
so awfully funny. 

Lucy, But she never said a word to me — 

Edward. No use — she doesn't understand a word 
of English. Besides, I told her to keep away from 
us at present. 

Lucj. Why } 

Edward. I wanted to have you alone to myself the 
day of our marriage — no one to pry into our secrets — 
to watch us — 

Lucy. I don't rightly understand it all yet — What 
had she to cry about at church.^ 

Edward. What.^ incredulous still? Poor Fanchon 
was engaged to a hussar — who died only a week ago 
— Perhaps our wedding brought up bitter thoughts of 
what might have been for her — 

Lucy. Oh — Edward ! {Holds out both hands to 
him.) How I have wronged you — Forget and forgive 

— think of all the excitement that I have gone through 

— the ceremony — the reception afterwards — the 
parting and journey — and then — 

Edward. And then — your doubts of me — your 
absurd jealousy. (Shaking his finger at her.) I hope 
hereafter you will have more confidence in me — and 
never jump at conclusions as you did just now. 

Lucy. Oh — Edward^ dear ; I never thought of it 
in that way — How much^ indeed^ you have to forgive ! 
but then, you know (archly), to err is human — to for- 
give^ divine — 

Edward. My Lucy! (Embraces her.) I think 
our wedding j ourney is ended at last — What troubles 
will sometimes arise from a slight misunderstanding. — 
Come. (Exeunt.) 



68 GUMTOWN WOMAN'S ASSOCIATION 

THE GUMTOWN WOMAN'S 
ASSOCIATION 



CHARACTERS 

Miss Jane Jalap, 1 

Miss Sally Slim, >- Ancient Maidens, 

Miss Polly Plum, J 

Mrs. Betsey Bounce, A Widow. 

Mrs. Lucinda Lobbs, 

Annie Seaton. 

GusTAVus Wellington, An Exquisite, and a recent 

convert to the woman jnovement, 
John Lobbs, A Hen-pecJced Husband, 

Scene. — A School-room or an Apartment in a house. 
Characters all seated. 



Jane Jalap, President, This meetin' has met for 
the purpose of doin' business. We will now commence 
to do those business, and it is essentially necessary that 
everybody who remains to hear our deliberations and 
confabulations should preserve the strictest order and 
the most diametrical prosecutions. We are engaged in 
a glorious, salmagundi work. That's Latin. Your 
President has been readin' up. It is necessary, when a 
person is elevated to a high office, that she should read 
up, and be prepared for every emergency. But I was 
goin' to remark, we are engaged in a glorious work. 
We are marching boldly forward with the intention of 
smashing the shackles that bind our fellow-women and 
make them slaves. We are stepping forward with a 
determined air, and soon the hill-tops will echo and re- 
echo with our shouts for freedom. The time has come 
when women must be allowed to vote. We have waited 
for a long time. " The years have crept so slowly by, 
Lorena," if I may be allowed to use the language of 



GUMTOWN WOMAN'S ASSOCIATION 69 

another, and it has seemed that the time would never 
come when we could smash the shackles; but the time 
has come, my fellow countrywomen, and we have cause 
to rejoice. I have rejoiced over the prospect for some 
time. There are still some diabolical and serpentwisti- 
cal men who sneer at our movements here in Gumtown. 
They have the audacity to say that the persons who are 
a movin' this movement are only those who are so old 
that they have lost all hopes of marryin'. 

John Lohbs, That can hardly be said to be a correct 
remark, for I think there are some among our number 
who have not yet given up all hopes. 

Lucinda Lobbs. John, be silent. D'ye mind.^ It 
is not your time to speak. 

John Lobbs. Well, I was only givin' my opinion. 
And it is altogether accordin' to parliamentary law to 
put in an interruption point occasionally. 

Jane Jalap, Gumtowners ! let there be silence while 
the President speaks. I have not much to say, but 
while I speak I would prefer not to be interrupt- 
icated. 

Lucinda Lobbs, Go on, and I will keep John quiet. 

Jane Jalap, I was a sayin' that some persons said 
that those who were concerned in movin' this movement 
were only those who couldn't get married. I savagely 
hurl back that assertion into the teeth of those who 
uttered it, and I say that it is a falsehood manufactured 
out of whole cloth. I, for one, do not want to marry. 
No, never ! Why should I marry, to be trampled upon ? 
why, indeed? Are there not too many married women 
now? Yes. 

John Lobbs {aside). And too many married men, 
too. 

Jane Jalap. They have no rights — they cannot go 
to the polls. They must work at home — they must 
slave over the wash-tub and the cooking-stove, while 
their husbands can march up to the polls and deposit 
their votes. Is this right? Is this just? Well I 
guess not. I say no, and if I had the voice of forty 



70 GUMTOWN WOMAN^S ASSOCIATION 

thousand thunder-claps rolled into one I would thunder 
forth^ '* No ! we will be free ! " Our able co-worker, 
Miss Sally Slim^ will now give us her views on the 
woman question. {President seats herself.) 

Sally Slim, Gentlemen and Ladies of the Gumtown 
Woman's Association^ the President has called upon me 
to speak^ but I have a severe cold^ and will therefore be 
unable to speak grammatically. I will expect you to 
look over all grammatical errors^ as, when I was young 
— that is, when I went to school — the grammar books 
had not been printed, and we had none in our school. 
I can see the need of gramadary, now that I have taken 
the platform and engaged in the great woman's rights 
movement. Yes, I can see the need of the grammar 
book, and before the next Convention comes off I ex- 
pect to buy a grammar book and read it entirely 
through. Yes, I will read it from the first page to the 
last page, and when I go to the city and make my 
speech in the Convention, there shall be cheerin' and 
shoutin'. I am goin' to put a great deal of work on that 
speech, and make it a success. There is the Rice fam- 
ily out to the Corners, and they are a condemmin' our 
meetings fearfully. I think they had better attend to 
matters at home. They say that Rice and his wife do 
fight awfully, and Sam Jones, as he was a goin' past one 
night, heard an awful racket. And then Jim Rice has 
commenced to drink, and is drinkin' awful hard. I 
therefore think that the Rice family ought to attend to 
their own house, and keep things quiet at home, and 
then they would not have so much time to talk about our 
woman's rights meetin's. But this is a sad world. 
People will attend to business that does not belong to 
them — and — and — yes, before T sit down I want to 
deny emphatically the remark that has been made in 
regard to the members of this meetin' wantin' to get 
married. I speak for myself, and I speak emphatically 
when I say I abominate the men. 

Gustavus Wellington, Weally! Pewhaps I had 
better wetire. 



GUMTOWN WOMAN'S ASSOCIATION 71 

President, No, no; she does not mean you. You 
are a member, and an honorable man. 

Annie Seaton {to Gustavusy, If you go, Gustavus, 
I shall go too. 

Sally Slim, No, no! I do not abominate the m.en 
who are members of this meetin'. By no means ! No, 
not at all ! They are the noblest men of the land. 

John Lobbs. Am I a noble man too ? 

Sally Slim, Can you not answer that question? 
Do you not think that you are a noble man.^ 

John Lobbs (drawlingly) , Well, I don't know 
much about it. Ask Lucinda. 

Sally Slim, Does Lucinda form your opinions? 

John Lobbs, Yes, Lucinda's pretty smart, and I 
allow her to form 'pinions. 

Sally Slim, Then I go on to refute and hurl back 
the dire slanders that have been cast upon us. We are 
not upon the hunt of husbands — I know I am not, and 
I think I speak the sentiments of the entire Association 
when I say so. I will now bring my remarks to a close, 
but before the meetin' adjourns I may have a few more 
words to say. I would now like to hear from Gustavus 
Wellington, as I think the women should not do all 
the talkin' in these meetin's. {Sally sits down,) 

President, Will Mr. Gustavus Wellington be so 
kind and obligin' as to make some remarks upon the 
woman's rights question? 

Gustavus Wellington {speaks). . Well, weally, I 
don't know as I can say much to push f owawd the caws 
of pwogwess. But anything I can do I will do, gladly. 
I am wather a stwanger at your meetings, having been 
at but one befoaw this one, and therefoaw I feel some 
hesitation about speaking befoaw you. 

Polly Plum, Go on, Mr. Wellington ; it is delightful 
to listen to you. 

Sally Slim, Yes, it is, indeed ! You speak in such a 
lovely, enrapticating way ! 

President, Will the members please be silent while 
Mr. Wellington speaks? 



72 GUMTOWN WOMAN'S ASSOCIATION 

Polly Plum^ I was only applaudin' and axin* him 
to go on. 

Sally Slim. And that is not unconstitutional nor 
anti-by-law-i-cal. 

President. But; Mr. Wellington, I presume you do 
not want to be interrupticated. 

Gustavus Wellington. Oh, it does not twouble me ! 
On the contwawy, I wather like it, as it shows that my 
wemawks are meeting with appwobation. And without 
appwobation I should not pwoceed vewy long, 

Polly Plum. Then I shall applaud. 

Sally Slim. And I. 

Annie Seatoft. And I. Oh, Gustavus! You are a 
beautiful speaker. 

Gustavus Wellingtov. Thanks ! But as I was about 
to wemawk, this woman's movement is an excellent 
movement — it is supewb; and although it is owiginal 
to me, yet I am cawied away with it. I think it is a 
sign of pwogwess. 

Polly Plum. Good! 

Sally Slim. Hear! hear! 

Annie Seaton. Splendid! Oh, Gustavus ! 

Gustavus Wellington. Woman has been bound in 
chains and slavery long enough. Yes, Miss Pwesident, 
she has been bound too long, and it is time she was 
bweaking loose, as it were. She should wise and make 
the male powtion of the community stand awound — 

Polly Plum. Good! 

Sally Slim. Hear! hear! 

Annie Seaton. That's so! 

Gustavus Wellington. Ladies and gentlemen, woman 
is equal to man, and if there is any difference she is the 
supewior. You can see that by gazing into the face 
of the women, just as I gaze upon the faces of lovely 
women now. 

Annie Seaton (blushing). Oh, Gustavus! 

Polly Plum (to Annie). You needn't make a fuss 
about it and pretend to blush. He was lookin' at me. 



GUMTOWN WOMAN'S ASSOCIATION 73 

Sally Slim. 'Tisn't so^ Polly Plum; he was gazin' 
upon me, 

Annie Seaton, I reckon you are both a couple of 
old fools. Gustavus is my beau^ and he was looking 
straight at me — wasn't you^ Gustavus ? 

Gustavus Wellington, I — I — yes_, of course I was. 

Polly Plum, Then if you two are so silly as to make 
love here — here in this meetin' where so much is at 
stake — here where we are tryin' to smash the shackles 
that makes woman a slave — if you are goin' to make 
love and blush and stammer and be silly you had bet- 
ter let us have your room and not your presence. This 
is too important a place for trifling and silly love-mak- 
ing. 

Sally Slim, I say so too. 

Annie Seaton, Come^ Gustavus, let us go. 

Gustavus Wellington, Well, weally, this is dis- 
twessing ! I did not want to offend — pon honaw ; but 
I feel undaw the circumstances I had better wetire. 

President, Yes, Mr. Wellington, we have a work to 
do. We considered you a great pillar in our woman's 
rights structure, but if you are goin' to make love to 
that young, unsophisticated girl, you had better leave 
us and scratch your name off our book. 

Gustavus Wellington (aside), I'd like to scratch 
your eyes out. (To President,) Before I go I will 
say a few words. I have the floor, and I cannot be 
cwushed. 

Polly Plum, Order ! order ! We don't want to hear 
you! 

Sally Slim, Order ! order ! Put the man out ! 

President, Let him say a few words before he re- 
tires. 

Gustavus Wellington, Yes, I will say a few words; 
I cannot be cwushed. Go on, noble women, in your 
work — go on. 

John Lobbs. He's comin' out all right. 

Lucinda Lobbs, Be quiet, John. 



74 GUMTOWN WOMAN'S ASSOCIATION 

John Lobbs, Yes^ ma'am ! 

Gustavus Wellington. Go on ! Go forward ! You 
have engaged in the work. Do not turn back. A 
bright future is before you. 

Polly Plum. Good! 

Sally Slim, Hear! hear! 

Gustavus Wellington. You have tried to catch hus- 
bands^ and have failed. You are too confounded ugly 
ever to marry, so, as a sort of amusement, go on in this 
work. Annie, we will wetire. {Offers his arm to An- 
nie. She takes it, and they move towards the door.) 

Polly Plum {excitedly). Oh, the villain! Put him 
out! 

Sally Slim. The conceited dandy! Put him out! 
{Exit Gustavus and Annie.) 

Polly Plum. Isn't this unsufFerable ? 

Sally Slim. Yes, it is without a parallelogram in the 
annals of ancient history. 

President. Well, they are gone. Let us treat them 
with silent contempt and proceed with our perform- 
ances. Mrs. Betsey Bounce, will you make a speech 
upon the advantages of woman's rights.'^ 

Betsey Bounce {speaks). Miss President, I am not 
much of a speaker, but I have writ a poem which I will 
read if the meetin' will listen. I have received con- 
sid'able praise fur my poetry, and Mr. Timothy Tewks- 
berry sez I would make heaps of money by wrltin' 
poetry if I would persevere. I have writ some fur the 
Squabbletown Times, and the editor praises my pieces 
highly. Shall I read the poem.^ 

Polly Plum. Yes, yes ! 

Sally Slim. Go on ! 

John Lobbs. If it's good let's have it. 

Betsey Bounce. I have writ better pieces. This was 
writ in a hurry, therefore you must not expect very 
much. 

President. We will be delighted to hear the poem, 
Mrs. Bounce. Please proceed. 

Betsey Bounce {reads). 



GUMTOWN WOMAN'S ASSOCIATION 75 

The people are risin' and springin' up^ 

All over this glorious nation, 
And the woman movement will spread and spread. 

Until it spreads clean over creation. 

The women they have been trampled upon and kept 
down. 

But now they have commenced a risin', 
And the way they make speeches and carry on, 

I think it is really surprisin'. 

The women should have a right to vote — that's so ! 

And the time is surely arrivin' 
When they will come out sweepin', and swarm up to the 
polls. 

Just like some bees a hivin'. 

And the time has come for us to work and be a doin' ; 

Let the men wash and cook the potatoes; 
But we must stir about and look to higher things. 

For we are agitators. 

We are determined to have the right'of suffocation. 

And also the right to vote, 
We are going to stand firm and work for this. 

As long as the star-spangled banner shall float. 

We are going to shiver the shackles that have bound us 
down. 

And made us slaves all over this nation; 
We are goin' to have our rights and our liberties, too. 

Or else there will be an awful big uproarification. 

Then I say to you all again. 

Let us be up and let us be a workin' ; 
Let the women go bravely forward. 

And let there be no shirkin'. {Betsey Bounce seats 
herself,^ 



76 GUMTOWN WOMAN'S ASSOCIATION 

Lucinda Lohhs, Excellent! Excellent! Beautiful! 
Delightful! Oh^ how I wish I could write poetry. I 
wish I could go and sit down in some sylvan shade, and 
stay there all my life and write poetry. 

John Lohhs {aside). I wish so too! 

Betsey Bounce. Do not praise my poetry too much. 
I do not think it is very good. I can do a great deal 
better. 

Lucinda Lohhs, Oh, it is delightful! John, why 
do you not praise Mrs. Bounce's poetry.^ 

John Lohhs. Well, I think it is tip-top, but I can do 
better. 

Lucinda Lohhs. Ridiculous ! Absurd ! Shut up, 
John! 

John Lohhs. Yes, ma'am. 

Lucinda Lohhs. I am sorry Mr. Wellington has left 
us. 

Polly Plum. Why should you be.^ He has not 
acted as a gentleman should. He said we had gone into 
this movement because we were too old and too homely 
to catch husbands. 

Lucinda Lohhs. But he is a tall, dignified man, and 
he made the meetings seem interestin'. 

Sally Slim. But here's your husband. Does his 
presence not make the meetin's seem interestin' to you.^ 

Lucinda Lohhs. Oh, no ! I can see John every day. 

John Lohhs (aside). Yes, she sees me more than is 
altogether pleasant. 

Lucinda Lohhs. I had intended to make a lengthy 
speech to-night, but I will defer it until another time. 

President. Mr. Lobbs, have you any remarks to 
make } 

Lucinda Lohhs. Speak up, John. 

John Lohhs {rises). Wall, I reckon I might say a 
few words. 

** The boy stood on the burnin* deck. 
Whence all but him had fled ; 
The flame that lit the battle's wreck 
Shone round him o'er the dead." 



GUMTOWN WOxMAN'S ASSOCIATION 77 

Lucinda Lobbs. Shut up^ John ! Don't make a 
goose of yourself ! 

John Lobbs. The President axed me to speak. 

Lucinda Lobbs. Well^ if you are goin' to speak, 
speak on the woman's rights question, and don't talk 
about the burnin' deck. 

John Lobbs. I know what I'm a doin'. When a 
feller wants to make a rail highfalutin' speech he gen- 
erally puts in a little bit of poetry at the first. That's 
what I was a doin'. 

President. Proceed, Mr. Lobbs. 

John Lobbs. Well, this woman's rights movement is 
a tip-top arrangement. I was ag'in it at the first, but 
Lucinda persuaded me that it was right. Lucinda's a 
smart woman, although I do say it, as oughtn't. Lu- 
cinda and me's been a livin' together for a great many 
years. I am a farmer, and Lucinda encourages me. I 
have had consid'able experience in raisin' cattle. I 
give my cattle all the straw they will eat, and then I 
feed them on corn or chopped feed of one kind or an- 
other. We keep cows. I do the milkin'. Lucinda 
says I must — 

Lucinda Lobbs. Shut up, John! Don't talk of 
those things. 

John Lobbs. Yes, ma'am. Well, ladies and gentle^ 
men, the woman's rights movement is an excellent ar- 
rangement. I am convinced of this, and sink or swim, 
I go with you. 

Polly Plum. Good ! good ! 

Sally Slim. Hear! hear! 

John Lobbs. The women are bound to get a vote. 
That is a foregone, and also a five-gone conclusion. I 
have been raisin' some beets. Last summer I raised 
some whoppers. There, was one of them as big as 
a half bushel. 

Lucinda Lobbs. Hush, John! Don't talk about 
your beets. Talk on the all-important subject of 
woman's rights. 

John Lobbs. Yes, ma'am. Well, as I was a sayin'. 



78 GUMTOWN WOMAN'S ASSOCIATION 

I go in for woman's rights; and woman's rights, as I 
understand it, is allowin' women to vote. And why 
should not women vote? They are refined and exalted, 
and they know a heap more'n us men. 

Polly Plum, Good ! good ! 

Sally Slim. Hear! hear! 

John Lohhs. Therefore they should be allowed to 
vote, and if any man dares oppose them I will — I will 
— yes, I'll send Lucinda to talk to 'em. I am just pre- 
parin' to plant out some apple trees, and I would like 
to have your opinions as to how far apart they should 
be sot from each other. 

Lucinda Lohhs, John stop ! If you can't speak on 
the subject, sit down. 

John Lohhs, Yes, ma'am. {John sits down.) 

President, Miss Sally- Slim, did you not say you 
wished to make a few remarks? 

Sally Slim. I believe I did. I thought of making 
another speech, but I have given that up. I now 
merely rise to call your attention to the way Polly 
Plum acted when Mr. Gustavus Wellington was here. 

PoKy Plum. Well, I guess I understand manners 
and epiquette, and I think I acted fully as well as you 
did. You always want to interfere with something or 
somebody. 

Sally Slim, Well, I guess I didn't try as hard to 
get him to smile upon me as you did. 

Polly Plum, Smile! 'Tisn't so! Sally Slim, take 
that back, or it will be the worse for you. 

Sally Slim. I take nothing back. I never re- 
cataract, never! And I'm not afraid of you. 

John Lohhs (aside). It's beginnin' to look squally. 

President. Ladies, preserve order. We will be a 
reproach and a by-law to the neighborhood, if we fall 
out and fight among ourselves. 

Polly Plum. Aren't you goin' to take back those 
words ? 

Sally Slim. Well, I guess not. I reiterate my state- 
ment that I never re-cataract. 



GUMTOWN WOMAN'S ASSOCIATION 79 

John Lohhs {aside), I guess me and Lucinda ought 
to go home. 

President. Once more^ ladies^ I ask you to keep 
order and preserve the equilibrium of this meetin'. 

Polly Plum, What care I for meetings and equilibri- 
ums? Sally Slim shall recall those words^ or I shall 
clutch her hair^ now becomin' gray^ and a handful of it 
I shall pull out. 

John Lohhs, Lucinda_, s'posin' we go home? 

Lucinda Lohhs, Be quiet^ John. 

John Lohhs, Yes^ ma'am. 

Polly Plum, Speak^ Sally Slim. Do you take back 
those words ? 

Sally Slim, I do not ! So^ now. 

Polly Plum, Then^ the consequences be upon your 
own head. {Polly Plum advances, and Betsey Bounce 
steps before her.) 

Betsey Bounce. '* Stay^ jail^^j? stay!" This must 
not be ! Sally Slim^ I command you to fly ! 

Sally Slim, Fly? Well^ I guess not. Did you 
ever know a Slim to fly? 

John Lohhs. No_, but I've hearn tell of a Slim get- 
tin' badly scrunched. Lucinda^ hadn't we better go 
home? 

Lucinda Lohhs, No^ John^ no. '* He that fights 
and runs away — " 

John Lohhs, Will always live to draw his pay. 

President, As there seems to be trouble brewing, I 
1 will adjourn the meetin'. We will meet next Monday 
' nighty and I hope — 

Polly Plum, Stop! Don't adjourn! She must 
retract ! 

Sally Slim. Never ! 

Betsey Bounce, Fly^ Sally^ fly! {Betsey Bounce 
takes Sally hy the arm and forces her off, followed hy 
Polly.) 

Curtain falls. 

McBride. 



80 JIMTOWN LYCEUM 

JIMTOWN LYCEUM 



CHARACTERS 

John Smith^ President, Jeremiah Hull^ 

William Jones^ Ellen Craig, 

Joseph Hodge, Jemima Jugg, 

Barney O'Donnell, Amanda Cobb. 

Scene. — A School-room. President John Smith, and 
Secretary Ellen Craig, seated at table, C, All the 
characters discovered at the rising of the curtain. 



President Smith, This meeting will now come to 
order. The evening is stormy — that is, it is a 
stormy evening. The wind howls mournfully, and the 
dead leaves from off the hickory trees are flying before 
the angry gusts. Yes, that's so. And the dull, heavy 
clouds are scudding across the skiey deep. And that's 
so too. It is an uncomfortable night to be out, there- 
fore our meeting is small. But numbers do not always 
make a good meeting. Yes, that's so. And although 
there are but few of us, our performances may be 
highly interesting, instructing, entertaining and amus- 
ing. And that's so too. The Secretary will please 
read the minutes of the last meeting. 

Ellen Craig, Secretary, {rises and reads). The Jim- 
town Lyceum met according to adjournment. Presi- 
dent Smith occupied the chair. The minutes of the 
previous meeting were read and approved. On motion 
of William Jones, Hezekiah Hobbs was elected a mem- 
ber of the Lyceum. On motion of Jemima Jugg, Jere- 
miah Hull was elected a member of the Lyceum. On 
motion of Joseph Hobbs, it was resolved that there be 
no courting done during the performances. On motion 
of Barney O'Donnell, it was resolved that there be an 
interval of fifteen minutes each evening, so as to give 



JIMTOWN LYCEUM 81 

the gentlemen an opportunity of asking to escort the 
ladies home. On motion of Amanda Cobb^ it was re- 
solved that the boys who crack hickory-nuts at the 
meetings be dispensed with. List of performances for 
next meeting: Poem by Amanda Cobb; Oration by 
Barney O'Donnell; Essay by Jane Boggs; Debate: 
Question^ Is promiscuous dancing sinful? Affirmative, 
Jemima Jugg; Deny, Jeremiah Hull; Declamation, 
Joseph Hodge. On motion, adjourned to meet in one 
week. {Secretary seats herself.) 

President Smith. If there are no objections to the 
minutes they will be considered approved. 

Amanda Cobb, Mr. President, I rise to ask that the 
minutes be corrected. I did not move that the boys 
who crack hickory-nuts at the meetings be dispensed 
with, but that the cracking of hickory-nuts be dispensed 
with. 

Ellen Craig, Perhaps you'd better write the minutes 
yourself, if you're so smart and so witty. I guess I 
know what I write. I took down the motion j ust as you 
made it. 

Amanda Cobb, I deny the assertion that I made 
such a motion as that. Do you for one moment think, 
Mr. President, that I would desire to dispense with the 
small boys who attend these meetings ? Never ! I 
am a friend to the boys; but I am opposed to having 
hickory-nuts cracked in the house. 

President Smith, The Secretary will make the cor- 
rection. 

Ellen Craig, Make the correction ! Never ! (Rises,) 
1 offer my resignation as Secretary. 

Amanda Cobb, I move that it be accepted. 

William Jones, I second the motion. 

President Smith. All those in favor of the motion 
will say aye. (All vote aye.) Those of the contrary 
opinion will say no. (No votes.) The ayes have it; 
the motion is agreed to, and Miss Craig's resignation 
as Secretary has been accepted. It will now be in 
order to elect another Secretary. 



82 JIMTOWN LYCEUM 

Ellen Craig. Miss Amanda Cobb is a remarkably 
smart woman — she thinks she is^ at least — and I 
move that she be elected. 

William Jones, I second the motion. 

President Smith. Any remarks on the motion? 
(After a pause.) It has been moved and seconded 
that Amanda Cobb act as Secretary. All those in 
favor of the motion will say aye. {All vote aye.) 
Those opposed will say no, {No votes,) The motion is 
agreed to^ and Miss Cobb is elected Secretary. Miss 
Cobb will come forward to the Secretary's desk. 
{Miss Cohb comes forward.) Any further business 
before the Lyceum? If not we are ready for the per- 
formances. {After a pause.) The first performance 
will be a poem by Amanda Cobb. 

Amanda {rises and reads). 

This world it is a panorama^ 

Or you might call it a show; 
There are many queer things to be seen in this world^ 

Whichever way you may go. 

There are some enterprising men in this world, 

On every hand you will see 
Men of this kind; while there are other men 

As lazy as lazy can be. 

I have often thought that there are some men 

Who are always behind time; 
They are always strugglin' and tryin' to climb, 

But they never climb. 

The world is full of men, some here, some there; 

Some do not amount to much; 
I never thought much of this kind of men ; 

I wouldn't marry one of such. 

I like to see a man get up early, 
And go to work with a will ; 



JIMTOWN LYCEUM 83 

I like to see a man take off his coat and work and work ; 
Such a man will be sure to climb the hill. 

We ought all to be strivin' to make a livin*, 
And some of us ought to strive to get rich. 

To the men of this meetin' I would say 
Which is doing which^ and which which? 

(^Amanda seats herself.) 

President Smith, Miss Cobb has read her essay. 
It will now be in order to hear criticisms and remarks 
upon the performance. 

Ellen Craig. I rise to remark on this piece of work^ 
which has been called a poem. That poem^ sir^ is an 
outrage upon an intelligent community. I don't be- 
lieve the lady ever writ the poem^ and if she did write 
it^ it isn't original. It is the weakest^ the thinnest, the 
wretchedest, the ugliest, the crookedest poem I ever 
heard read in my hearin'. My two ears have been 
shocked a listenin' to it. All through the poem the 
poeter talks about men, which goes to show that she is 
huntin* a husband, and would give her neck to get one. 
But no one will ever marry her — no, sir! The poem 
is a disgrace, and ought to be wiped out of the annals 
of history, if we could only get it done. (Sits down,) 

Amanda Cobb, I have kept my seat, and listened 
to this torpedo of abuse, and I am astonished, Mr. Pres- 
ident, that you will sit still, and let me be vitupercated. 
What is the world coming to, Mr. President? Be- 
cause I perform and do my duty as a member of the 
Lyceum, must I be expounded in this manner? I 
pause for a reply. 

President Smith, We all have a work to do in this 
world — and that's so — and we ought to do it, let the 
sky be overcast^ or let the stars and the moon and the 
milky way be shining down upon us. Yes, that's so. 
The poem perhaps wasn't measured properly; I am not 
a poet and cannot speak positively — yes, that's so ; but 
when we join a society for mutual improvement we 



84 JIMTOWN LYCEUM 

should not let our angry passions rise^ as the poet says^ 
when a member criticises our performance. We 
should take criticisms kindly — yes, that's so — and 
then we may expect to improve. The next performance 
will be an oration by Barney O'Donnell. 

Barney O'Donnell (rises). Misther Prisidint, I'm 
intirely onprepared to make a spache to-night. I have 
had a powerful sight of work to do this wake, and I 
have been onable to make any preparation. And thin 
I got upset out o' my wagon, and the idees have all been 
knocked out of my head. I'll tell yez how that wuz. 
Ye see I was a dhrivin' into the town the other day, an* 
I sthopped at a sthore an' thin I started agin, and as I 
was a dhrivin' an' a sthandin' up, somebody hollered 
whoa, and bedad I tumbled right down about the 
horses' hales. An' there was a feller on the sthrate, 
an' he hollers to me, *' Hello, Barney, an' what made ye 
git out that way.^" (Members laugh.) An' so ye 
see, Misther Prisidint, I will be onable to make much 
of a spache, but I will thry and say a few words upon 
The Apple, The apple grows upon the apple tree, 
and the apple tree, ginerally spakin', grows in the 
orchard. But apples don't ginerally grow in pache 
orchards. There are different kinds of apples. There 
is the Walldower, and the Pippin, and the King of 
Tompkins County, and the Vandover, and the Rambo 
— and the Rambo is a nate little apple; and the Green- 
ing, and the McAdams, and a great many others. 
Apples are sometimes made into apple butther, which 
is certainly a very good way to have them fixed up. 
But it isn't a good plan to have much apple butther 
about a house where there is many childer, for they 
must continually have a chunk of bread and apple but- 
ther upon it, and they are liable to git the apple butther 
upon their hands, and thin they stick to the table an' 
the chairs, and so forth. But, Misther Prisidint, I am 
exhausted, and will have to sit down. (Seats himself,) 

President Smith, Remarks upon the speech are now 
in order. 



JIMTOWN LYCEUM 85 

William Jones. Perhaps it would not be fair to crit- 
icise the gentleman's performance^ when he was mipre- 
pared to speak. I hope^ however^ that his novel way 
of getting out of a wagon will teach him to keep his 
seat in the future^ when he is driving. 

President Smith, Miss Ellen Craig will now read 
an essay — subject^ Blackherrying. 

Ellen Craig (rises and reads). When the weather is 
not too warm^ I like to go blackherrying. It is de- 
lightful to go blackherrying. I often go blackherry- 
ing. I shall never forget the time when cousin Sal and 
I went blax^kberrying. It was in the summer^ and the 
blackberries were ripe when cousin Sal and I went 
blackherrying. We took a basket. We also took a 
bucket when we went blackherrying. I love blackber- 
ries — that is^ I love sweet blackberries. Blackberries 
and cream are splendid. When cousin Sal and I went 
blackherrying^ we picked half a bushel of blackberries. 
It was in Squire Dawson's iield^ and Tom Dawson told 
us to get out of that^ or he would set the dogs upon us^ 
but we picked away and the dogs didn't come. . Black- 
berrying would be more pleasant if the blackberries 
did not grow upon briers ; but the briers detract from 
the pleasure of the enjoyment. Blackberries are said 
by some to be better than raspberries, but I believe I 
would prefer the raspberries. However, they are both 
good when there is cream and sugar on them. W^hen 
cousin Sal and I went blackherrying we had a splendid 
time. Sal fell over the fence and spilled a bucketful. 
Sal is a lively girl, and very fond of music. She plays 
upon the fiddle. I believe this is all I have to say about 
blackberries. {Seats herself.) 

President Smith. The members w^ill now proceed to 
criticise the performance. 

Amanda Cobb. For contemptible, nonsensical, 
wishy-washy stuff, that essay exceeds anything that 
was ever writ and perduced. Like the writer, it is 
shatter, and everybody knows that the person who read 
it is the shallerest woman on the face of the vearth. 



86 JIMTOWN LYCEUM 

Ellen Craig (rising and speaking loudly and ex- 
citedly). Mr. President^ I am not going to be vituper- 
ated and prognosticated. No^ sir ! Call the woman to 
order. Are sich things goin' to flicker over us like a 
summer cloud .'^ And are you goin' to sit there like a 
parquette^ and jist like as if you didn't know nothin'.^ 
Call the woman to order^ I say. She has had the 
rapacity to say that I am the shallerest person upon the 
face of the yearth_, and sich things shan't be said about 
me in this twenty-ninth century. {Sits down.) 

President Smith. The lady who has just spoken 
should remember that^ but a few moments ago^ she 
criticised severely a poem by the lad}^ who is now crit- 
icising her essay. We should have fair play all round 
— yes^ that's so^ and that which is sauce for the goose 
is sauce for the gander. We should take criticisms 
kindly^ yes^ that's so^ and we can't expect to improve 
unless we can bear to be criticised. If Miss Cobb 
doesn't like Miss Craig's essay^ she should say she 
doesn't like it — yes^ that's so^ and jMiss Cobb will pro- 
ceed with her remarks. 

Amanda Cobb. I liked the essay w^ell enough^ but 
she said ugly things about my poem^ and I was going 
to be even with her. She is a shallow^ impertinent 
Craig^ and her essay was just like her. I have done. 

President Smith. If no other member wishes to re- 
mark^ we will call the next performance. (After a 
pause.) The next performance will be a debate upon 
the question^ Is promiscuous dancing sinful? Jemima 
Jugg will speak on the affirmative^ and Jeremiah Hull 
on the negative. 

Jemima Jugg. Mr. President^ I've got an awful 
bad cold^ and a sore eye, and the toothache, and the 
headache, and the earache, and my nose is runnin' 
dreadfully, but nevertheless I will endeavor to do my 
duty faithfully to my country. This is a deceitful 
night; the wind how^s fearfully, and perhaps it would 
have been better for me if I had stayed at home; but I 
felt that I ought to defend my side of the question, and 



JIMTOWN LYCEUM 87 

stand by the flag until the last armed foe expired. 
Promiscuous dancing, in the first place, is sinful, be- 
cause the preacher down at the red meetin'-house is 
agin it, and we all know that the preacher down there 
wouldn't be agin it if it was right. That preacher is 
an excellent man, and I hope the time will come when 
he will get a better salary, and a new hat. His coat 
is bad, also, and those who sit under the sound of his 
voice Sunday after Sunday, should blush dreadfully 
when they see him walkin' down the broad aisle of the 
meetin'-house. Preachers ought to be well paid. 
They are a neglected class, and I hope the time will 
come when the people will wake up and do their duty. 
If something is not done soon, there will be no preach- 
ers in all this broad land, and what will become of us ? 
Where will we go Sundays? The singing in the red 
church is not as good as it used to be, which, I think, 
is all on account of gettin' that Maria Jones into the 
choir. I know if I had anything to do with the sing- 
ing, Fd march her out of that, pretty quick. The rats 
are very bad down at our house now, and Tom and the 
dog are kept pretty busy tryin' to catch them. We 
poisoned some of them, but I am not much in favor of 
having poison lying about the house. Tom set a trap 
one night and caught two, and if we keep on, I think 
we will get all of them killed. Mr. President, I believe 
I have nothing more to say on the question. 

President Smith. Jeremiah Hull will now speak on 
the negative of the question. 

Jeremiah Hull. Mr. President, I contend that 
dancing is not sinful, because it leads a person to jump 
up and move about, and any person who jumps up and 
moves about is exercising himself, and exercise is said 
to be excellent medicine. We also read of people 
dancing in the Bible — that is, I mean we read in the 
Bible about people dancing, and if they danced in the 
Bible, that is, I mean if they danced in the Bible — I 
can't get that fixed quite right. If they danced in the 
Bible, no, I mean, if the Bible danced in the people. 



88 JIMTOWN LYCEUM 

Gewhittaker! I guess I'll have to give that up. But 
you understand me. If the men danced in the Bible — 
there it is again! Mr. President^ I've got into trouble. 
IVe got tangled up^ and can't get unraveled. 

President Smith, You mean that if the people we 
read of in the Bible^ danced, we have a right to dance, 
too. 

Jeremiah Hull, That's it, that's it ! but somehow I 
couldn't say it. I disrecollect the names of the men 
that danced, but they did dance. Uncle Josh says they 
did. Now when they danced, is it not proper that we 
should dance too? We haven't had a dance in Jim- 
town for a long time, but I understand that Squire Hall 
is going to make a rousing party next week, and they 
say he has employed two fiddlers, and is going to have 
dancing in two rooms. Squire Hall is an excellent 
man, and he wouldn't have dancing in his house if it 
wasn't accordin' to Scripter. I would simply hint to 
the lady on the affirmative of this question, that if she 
talks so fiercely and unrestrainedly agin' dancing, I 
will not escort her to Squire Hall's party. 

Jemima Jugg {angrily). Who cares .^ I don't want 
to have nothin' to do with you. 

Jeremiah Hull, Be careful, Jemima. You are 
'cited now, and not cognizant of what you are utterin'. 
You'll be sorry for this when the party comes off next 
week. 

Jemima Jugg, I am, I tell you. Mind your busi- 
ness. Go along after that Stokes gal, as fast as you 
like — I don't care. 

William Jones, Mr. President, it seems to me we 
ought to have order. 

President Smith, Yes, that's so. Debaters should 
not so far forget themselves as to fall out and fight be- 
fore the members of the Lyceum. People are liable to 
talk — yes, that's so — and they may talk about this 
occurrence. We should be perfectly cool, calm, and 
collected when we debate — yes, that's so — and if we 
wish to talk about escorting each other to parties or to 



JIMTOWX LYCEUM 89 

other places of amusement^ we should speak privately 
and not publicly — yes^ that's so. I will now decide 
the debate closed. The next performance will be a 
declamation by Joseph Hodge. 

{Joseph rises and speaks ^^ The Old Bachelor's Sale," 
changing the last word of each line,) 

I dreamed a dream in the midst of my numbers, 
And as fast as I dream'd it, it came into slumbers ; 
My thoughts ran along in such beautiful sweeter, 
I'm sure I ne'er saw any poetry meter; 

It seem'd that a law had been recently laid. 
That a tax on old bachelors' pates should be made; 
And, in order to make them all willing to carry. 
The tax was as large as a man could well marry. 

The bachelors grumbled, and said 'twas abuse, 

'Twas horrid injustice and horrid no use. 

And declared that, to save their own hearts' blood 

from shilling, 
Of such a vile tax they would not pay a spilling. 

But the rulers determined them still to vendue. 
So they set all the bachelors up at pursue: 
A crier was sent through the town to and blow, 
To rattle his bell, and his trumpet to fro. 
And to call out to all he might meet in his day, 
** Ho ! forty old bachelors sold here to way ! " 

And presently all the old maids in the gown. 
Each in her very best bonnet and town, 
From thirty to sixty, fair, plain, red, and sale, 
Of every description, all flock'd to the pale. 

The auctioneer then in his labor a man. 
And call'd out aloud, as he held up began, 
'* How much for a bachelor ? Who wants to I } ** 
In a twink every lady responded, " I ! buy ! " 



90 JIMTOWN LYCEUM 

In shorty at a highly extravagant trice^ 

The old bachelors all were sold off in a price^ 

And forty old maidens — some younger^ some 

shoulder — 
Each lugg'd an old bachelor home on her older. 

(^Joseph hows and seats himself,) 

President, The Lyceum is now adjourned — yes, 
that's so. 

{The members rise from their seats. In passing 
Amanda Cobb, Ellen Craig takes her by the arm,) 

Ellen. You said I was the shallerest woman on the 
face of the yearth. Take that! (Strikes her,) 

Amanda, And you take that. {Strikes Ellen,) 

Ellen, You ugly, hateful woman ! 

Amanda, You ugly — ugly rhinosemhoss ! 

( They fight, and Jemima commences to beat Jeremiah 
on the head,) . 

Jemima, Git out of this^ you conceited Hull. 

Jeremiah, Oh, don't! Hokey! Thunderation and 
blazes ! {Jemima still beats him.) 

Several Members, Order! Order! Don't disgrace 
the meetin'. 

President, Order! Order! Adjourned! Ad- 
j ourned ! Yes, that's so ! Go home ! 

{General row and confusion. Lights put out as 
curtain falls.) 

McBride. 



ASSISTING HEZEKIAH 91 



ASSISTING HEZEKIAH 



CHARACTERS 
Hezekiah Spriggins^ a Bashful Youth, 
Ebenezer Hunkerton^ Another Youth, not so bashful, 
Jerusha Matilda Slocum^ A Young Lady who looks 

with favor upon Hezekiah, 
Scene. — A room comfortably furnished, Hezekiah 

seated. 



Hezekiah. Wall, I've got here at last. IVe come 
over a courtin', but I wish tew gracious I was back hum 
ag'in. I know I can't say what I want tew when 
Jerusha Matilda comes in. I got awful desprit this 
evenin' and sed as heow I'd come right over and ax 
Jerusha Matilda to onct and have done with it, but if 
I was eout of the house neow I'd split for hum on the 
double quick. It wouldn't dew tew back deown and 
run eout of the house neow, when they've let me in and 
Jerusha Matilda is puttin' on her Sunday-go-to-meetin* 
clothes for the purpose of sittin' up with me. No, that 
would look too despritly sheepish, but when Jerusha 
Matilda comes in I know I won't be able tew get up 
courage enough tew ax her tew marry me. I ought tew 
ax her, too, for she's as nice a gal as can be found 'twixt 
here and Deacon Doolittle's, and she'd suit me tip-top. 
I reckon there ain't no better housekeeper in the hull 
keounty. But I can't ax her. (Rises and walks 
about.) I wish I wasn't so thunderation bashful. 
(Step heard outside,) Jerusalem! she's coming! 
What on airth will I dew? I have a good mind tew 
jump right eout of the window. 

Enter Jerusha Matilda, R, 
Jerusha Matilda (coming forward and extending her 
hand). Why, Hezekiah, I am ^etotally delighted tew 
see yeou. 



92 ASSISTING HEZEKIAH 

Hezehiah {taking her hand bashfully^. Yes, and — 
and — and I'm — yes^ I come over — and — and I 
thought as heow — 

Jerusha Matilda. Yes, I understand, Hezekiah, and 
I am very, very glad to see yeou. Take a seat, Heze- 
kiah. (Pointing to a chair.) Take a seat and make 
yourself at home. 

Hezehiah. Yes, I will, Jerusha Matilda, and I'm 
very much obleeged tew yeou. I was sittin*, but I got 
up tew travel reound a spell. {He seats himself,) 

Jerusha Matilda. This is beautiful weather we are 
having neow. {She seats herself.) 

Hezehiah. Yes, awful nice — couldn't ax for any- 
thing nicer. I've got my potatoes raised and my 
punkins hauled in. 

Jerusha Matilda. Yeou're a forehanded man, 
Hezekiah ; yeou drive the work ahead of yeou. 

Hezehiah. Yes, that's it — that's it exactly, or at 
least that's the way I think it is. 

Jerusha Matilda. The men who drive the work are 
the men who succeed in the world. 

Hezehiah. Yes, I reckon that's a fact. I think I'm 
succeedin' purty well. I've got fifty acres of as good 
land as anybody ever sot their eyes onto. Then I have 
a forty sheep and a yoke of oxen, and I tell you them 
oxen are somethin' tew be proud of. I call 'em Pete 
and Star. 

Jerusha Matilda. Yeou are very comfortably fixed, 
Hezekiah. All you need neow is a wife. 

Hezehiah. Yes, I — that is — I — yes — I do need 
— I do need one of them things. 

Jerusha Matilda. Then you should lose no time ; you 
should get married as soon as possible. 

Hezehiah {aside). I wonder if she'd have me? 
Now's my chance tew ax her. But I can't do it — I 
can't do it. 

Jerusha Matilda. What is more comfortable and 
pleasing than a happy home and a lovin' husband and 
wife } 



ASSISTING HEZEKIAH 93 

Hezekiah, That's it — that's it — it can't be did ! 
There ain't nothin' equal — there ain't nothin* that will 
touch at it. (Aside.) If I could ax her I 'spect it 
would be all right. (To Jerusha Matilda.) Jerusha 
Matilda, I've come aver tew see abeout somethin'. 
Yeou know people have to see abeout things. I want 
tew — I want tew ax yeou a question. 

Jerusha Matilda {aside). He's going tew ask me. 
I'm all in a flutter. {To Hezehiah,) Proceed, Heze- 
kiah. I will listen with deep attention and a flutterin' 
heart. 

Hezekiah, Yes, I'll perceed. I — will yeou — thdt 
is- — will yeou — that is — will yeou.^ (Aside,) 
Grindstuns and shovel handles ! I can't say nothin'. 
{To Jerusha Matilda.) The corn crop was mighty 
good this season, and Sam Smithers had a tremendous 
crop of onions. 

Jerusha Matilda {aside). Poor dear Hezekiah! he 
can't say what he wants tew. If it warn't ag'in the 
rules of etisquet I'd ax him. But mebbe he'll come tew 
it after a spell. {To Hezekiah.) Ebenezer Hunker- 
ton has been comin' over here lately. 

Hezekiah {startled). He has! What's he been 
comin' for.^ 

Jerusha Matilda {blushing). Oh, Hezekiah, heow 
can yeou ax me sich a question ? Heow can I tell what 
he's been comin' for.^ 

Hezekiah. I reckon he comes over tew borrer some- 
thin'.^ 

Jerusha Matilda. No, not always. He comes in 
the evenin' and we sorter keep company and talk a 
spell. 

Hezekiah {aside and rising and walking about). 
That's got to be stopped. Ebenezer's comin' a sparkin' 
and I can't allow him tew have Jerusha Matilda. I 
must have her myself. But I can't ax her. Neow, 
what'U be done abeout it? 

Jerusha Matilda. What are yeou walkin' around 
for, Hezekiah ? Why don't yeou keep yeour sittin' } 



94 ASSISTING HEZEKIAH 

Hezekiah, I can't sit deown, Jerusha Matilda — I 
can't sit deown^ noheow. What's that Ebenezer Hun- 
kerton comin' over here for^ anyheow? 

Jerusha Matilda. La ! Hezekiah^ heow can I an- 
swer that question? Sometimes he comes tew borrer 
somethin' and sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he 
doesn't ax for anything, and then I jest s'pose he wants 
tew talk tew me and so we kinder keep company for a 
spell. 

Hezehiah {walking around). Wall, he'd better not 
come any more. 

Jerusha Matilda, Mebbe when he hears yeou have 
been here he won't come any more. 

Hezekiah, Wall, he'd better not. I don't want any- 
body else tew come here neow. Anyheow, Ebenezer 
hain't got any sich a farm as I've got. 

Enter Ebenezer Hunkerton, 

Ebenezer, Good evenin'. 

Jerusha Matilda (rising). Good evenin', Ebenezer. 
I'm awful glad tew see yeou, 

Hezekiah (aside). By Jehosophat ! there's that fel- 
ler neow. What'd he come for.^ I reckon he'd better 
go home. 

Ebenezer, Hello, there, Hezekiah Spriggins ! 
Heow de dew? Can't yeou see a feller? 

Hezekiah (coolly), Heow de dew?, 

Ebenezer, Guess yeou don't know me, Hezekiah. 
Hain't seen me since day afore yesterday. 

Hezekiah (aside), I didn't want tew see yeou this 
evenin', anyheow. 

Jerusha Matilda, Take seats and sit deown. Sit 
deown, Hezekiah; sit deown, Ebenezer. 

Ebenezer. Wall, yes, I don't care if I dew. 

(Seats himself at one side of the stage, Hezekiah 
at the other side, and Jerusha Matilda sits near the 
center,) 

Jerusha Matilda, Heow's all yeour folks, Eben- 
ezer? 



ASSISTING HEZEKIAH 95 

Ebenezer, Oh^ we're all purty slick. Marm, she's 
goin' tew make her apple-butter to-morrow. 

Jerusha Matilda, Ah ! is she } have yeou many ap- 
ples this year.'^ 

Ebenezer, Oh^ yes; heaps of 'em. 

Hezekiah (aside). She's talkin' tew him. She can't 
see me since he's come in. 

Jerusha Matilda. Have yeou many apples this year, 
Hezekiah ? 

Hezekiah (aside). She's talkin' tew me neow. 
Mebbe she thinks as much of me as she does of him. 
(To Jerusha Matilda,) Yes^ we've got a consid'able 
lot of apples. 

Jerusha Matilda. It's a good thing tew have plenty 
of apples. 

Ebenezer. Yes^ it is so! 

Hezekiah. Yes^ it is that! 

Jerusha Matilda, I have a mind tew make an apple 
parin' and invite yeou folks. Would yeou come? 

Ebenezer. Yes^ I'd come. 

Hezekiah. Yes^ of course, I'd come. 

Jerusha Matilda (to Ebenezer). How does yeour 
marm make her apple butter.^ 

Ebenezer, I declare tew goodness I don't know 
heow. I know she puts in apples and cider. 

Jerusha Matilda, Is she goin' tew make much apple 
butter this year? 

Ebenezer, Oh, yes, consid'able. 

Hezekiah (aside). She's talkin' tew him, neow. I 
wish he'd go home. He ought tew know enough tew 
dew that. 

Jerusha Matilda. Did yeour marm raise many 
cookin' punkins this year? 

Ebenezer. Oh, yes, a tremendous pile. 

Hezekiah (aside). They've got a pow'ful heap of 
talkin' tew dew abeout the apples and the punkins, 
seems to me, 

Jerusha Matilda. Punkin butter isn't as good as 
apple butter. . 



96 ASSISTING HEZEKIAH 

Ehenezer, Not by a long shot. I wouldn't give five 
cents for all the punkin butter in the keounty. 

Jerusha Matilda, Are we goin' tew have any singin* 
schools this year? 

Ebenezer, Yes^ I callate we are^ and I'm goin' tew 
come and take yeou. 

Jerusha Matilda (laughs). Ha! ha! Oh^ are 
yeou ? 

Hezehiah {aside), Wall^ I guess he won't if I can 
help it. Neow if he'd only go home^ I'd ax her abeout 
marryin'. 

Ehenezer, Yeou may consider yeourseif engaged 
for the winter. I'll come eout arter yeou every 
evenin'. 

Hezehiah {aside). If he does I'll knock his head 
off. 

Jerusha Matilda, It'll be purty nice tew have a fel- 
ler tew depend on. 

Ehenezer, I think that's the way the fellers ought 
tew dew. Every feller ought tew have a certain gal, 
and stick tew her through the winter. 

Hezehiah {aside), I'd like tew chuck that feller 
eout of the house. Wall, I can't stand this much 
longer; I'm gettin' desperate, and I'll either thrash that 
feller, or ax Jerusha Matilda tew marry. 

Ehenezer {rising), I declare tew gracious if I 
didn't forget. Marm said for me tew hurry back and 
not stay a minute. She sent me over tew borrer yeour 
apple butter stirrer. Yeou know I told yeou she was 
goin' tew make her apple butter to-morrow. 

Jerusha Matilda {rises), I'll get it for you, {Exit 
Jerusha Matilda.) 

Ehenezer {to Hezehiah), I s'pose yeou hain't made 
yeour apple butter yet, Hezekiah? 

Hezehiah, Yes, we've biled two kittlefuls already. 

Ehenezer, You've come a sparkin', haven't you, 
Hezekiah ? 

Hezehiah, Guess 'tain't none of yeour business what 
I come for. 



ASSISTING HEZEKIAH 97 

Ehenezer, Geewhillakins ! Why^ Hezekiah you're 
kinder touchy. 

Hezekiah. Wall, I reckon what I have come arter 
doesn't consarn you. 

Ehenezd^. Ain't so sure abeout that, Hezekiah. 
I've got a sort of a notion arter Jerusha Matilda my- 
self, and I s'pose I have as good a right tew spark her 
as you have. 

{Enter Jerusha Matilda, L,, with the stirrer in her 
hand,) 

Jerusha Matilda, Here is the stirrer, Ebenezer. 

Ehenezer, Wall, jist sit it there in the corner. I 
guess I'll stay awhile. 

Jerusha Matilda, I'm glad tew hear you say that. 
{She places the stirrer in the corner,) I can talk tew 
both of yeou. {Ehenezer sits down,) 

Hezekiah (aside). That feller's jest stayin' tew 
plague me. 

Ehenezer, Jerusha Matilda, we've been kinder 
keepin' company for some time, and I s'pose I might as 
well come tew the p'int. 

Hezekiah {springing up and then sitting down again. 
Aside.) By hokey! what's that feller goin' tew dew? 

Ehenezer {continuing), Jerusha Matilda, yeou and 
me have been purty good friends for some time, and 
I've been thinkin' as how we might as well have the 
matter settled. 

Hezekiah {aside). Good land of Penobscot! Is he 
goin' tew ask her.^ He shan't dew it. Didn't I come 
over for that purpose, and neow am I goin' tew Jet him 
step in and take her away from me? Not by a long 
shot! {Springing up and speaking excitedly.) 
Jerusha Matilda ! 

Jerusha Matilda, Goodness gracious, Hezekiah ! 
Heow yeou startled me ! 

Ehenezer, Hezekiah, hadn't yeou better keep yeour 
seat? 

Hezekiah. No, sir; I "vas here first, and I ought 
tew speak first. 



98 ASSISTING HEZEKIAH 

Ehenezer (to Jerusha Matilda), Jerusha Matilda, 
I want tew ax yeou — 

Hezekiah {excitedly). Jerusha Matilda, I want tew 
ax yeon. Hear me, Jerusha Matilda. Listen tew me, 
and don't mind that other feller. 

Ehenezer, I have been comin' tew see yeou for some 
time. 

Hezekiah (excitedly). Oh, Jerusha Matilda, hear 
me! Don't mind what Ebenezer's sayin*. I want 
yeou, Jerusha Matilda; I want yeou. Won't yeou be 
mine? 

Jerusha Matilda, Yes, I will, Hezekiah. 

Hezekiah (jumping). Whoop! hurrah! It's all 
right. Oh, ain't I a happy fellow } Whoop ! hurrah ! 
(Goes and takes Jerusha Matilda's hand.) I'm very 
much obliged tew yeou, Jerusha Matilda, and I'll be 
very good tew yeou. 

Jerusha Matilda. Yes, I know yeou will, Hezekiah. 

Hezekiah, I'm kinder sorry for you, Ehenezer. 

Ehenezer, Oh, it's all right, Hezekiah. Jerusha 
Matilda and I understood the matter. I knew yeou 
wanted tew ax her, but yeou were too skeery, and I 
thought I'd assist — sorter help yeou along, yeou know. 

Hezekiah, Wall, I'm so tickled I skeercely know 
what tew dew. I came over here tew get a wife, and 
IVe got her. 

Ehenezer (going and taking up the apple butter 
stirrer). And I came over here for the apple butter 
stirrer, and I have got it. 

Curtain. 

Mc Bride. 



AN UNSUCCESSFUL ADVANCE 99 

AN UNSUCCESSFUL ADVANCE 



CHARACTERS 

Miss Susannah Swingletree^ An Old Maid. 
Robert Hopkins^ A Widower. 

Scene. — A Room comfortably furnished, Susannah 
discovered seated. 



Susannah. The hour has come. I expect to see 
Mr. Hopkins soon^ and I am all in a flutter. I have no 
doubt he will propose^ although I well know he is a very 
bashful_, hesitating man. If he only knew that I would 
accept he would come to the point at once, but poor, 
dear man, he does not know this. Therefore, under 
the circumstances, it can do no harm to help him along, 
as it were, and assist him to come to the proposing 
point. I have set the present hour for him to call upon 
me. Of course I did not say in my note why I wished 
him to come — that would have been ill-timed and out 
of place. It would have been highly absurd for me to 
say to him that I wished him to propose to me; or, in 
other words, that I wished him to offer me his hand and 
heart, yet that is why I desire his presence. I will talk 
to him gently, yet fluently, and I feel sure that I can 
draw him forward until he shall propose. And when 
he does ask the important question I shall seem to be 
somewhat startled, yet I will sink gracefully into his 
arms and answer his question with a low and thrilling 
yes. It almost takes my breath away to think of it. 
For forty long years I have earnestly desired to hear 
someone ask me this all important question, but I have 
never heard it except from one person, and he was a 
worthless wretch that nobody of any respectability 
would think of marrying. Ah ! I hear a step — he 
comes. (Knock at door. She rises.) Now I must go 



100 AN UNSUCCESSFUL ADVANCE 

to the door with a graceful sweep^ thus. {With a ridic- 
ulous sweep she moves toward the door.) And when I 
open the door I must extend my hand thus^ and receive 
him cordially. (Opens the door,) Good evenings Mr. 
Hopkins. (Bartends her hand.) Good evenings good 
evening. You have come in reply to my note and I 
am thankful ; I am also delighted and antepenultimated. 
Come in^ Mr. Hopkins; come right in. (Mr. Hopkins 
enters. She places a chair for him.) Sit right down 
upon this chair and make yourself feel at home. {He 
seats himself.) The refrangibility of the atmospheric 
caperlosticum makes this a delightful anniversary. 

Mr. Hopkins. Which .^ 

Susannah, Give me your hat^ Mr. Hopkins. {He 
gives her his hat.) I was merely remarking that the 
refrangibility of the atmospheric caperlosticum made it 
highly indigenous to the progressiveness of the present 
anniversary. 

Mr. Hopkins, Oh^ was that it? Wall^ I didn't 
know you conversed in a furrin language. I didn't 
know what yeou was talkin' about. 

Susannah. Yes^ I have fallen into a habit of using 
large words. I know it is wrongs but I was so over- 
joyed at seeing you that the words broke forth relent- 
lessly. How have you been^ Mr. Hopkins ? 

Mr. Hopkins. Oh^ fust rate. Hain't no reason to 
complain. 

Susannah. I am delighted to hear it^ Mr. Hopkins. 
And how are your children.^ 

Mr. Hopkins. Oh^ they're gittin' along purty well 
considerin'. 

Susannah. It is so sad that they are growing up 
without the restraining and revivifying influence of a 
metropolitan step-mother. 

Mr. Hopkins. Yes^ I suppose they do need some 
kind of a step-mother^ but I reckon there ain't any of 
the kind yeou speak of in these diggin's. 

Susannah. Oh^ yes^ Mr. Hopkins^ I think you could 
find a good step-mother for your children — I think you 



AN UNSUCCESSFUL ADVANCE 101 

could find one who would watch over them just as well 
as their own mother would have done. 

Mr. Hopkins. Yes^ I s'pose I could. But hasn't 
the price of beef been goin' up tremenjusly durin' the 
past week.^ 

Susannah. Yes^ beef is rising unrestrainedly. 

Mr. Hopkins. And pork's purty high^ too. 

Susannah. Yes^ and all those who have cattle and 
hoglets for sale^ as you have_, Mr. Hopkins^ have great 
reason to rejoice and feel exceedingly melodramatic. 

Mr. Hopkins. Yes^ that's so. 

Susannah, But_, Mr. Hopkins^ although you have 
bovines and hoglets^ and although you are surrounded 
with all the comforts money can buy^ you must feel sad 
and lonely at times because you have no companion to 
share your happiness and to sympathize with you when 
you feel downcast and oppressed. 

Mr. Hopkins. Wall^ I don't know as I do. Yeou 
see I've got six childer^ boys and gals they are^ and they 
make racket enough to keep anybody from gittin' sad 
and lonely. 

Susannah. Yes^ I have no doubt your children are 
joyous and evanescent birdlings^ yet you would feel 
more at home^ and a blissful rest fulness would fall 
upon you if you had a kind and loving companion to 
help you bear the cares and troubles of life. 

Mr. Hopkins. Do yeou railly think so.^ 

Susannah. I do^ indeed. 

Mr. Hopkins. Wall^ mebbe you're right. But 
hasn't there been a pow'ful heap of snow durin' this 
winter? I reckon there's never been the likes of it 
afore. 

Susannah (aside). Oh^ isn't this excruciating? 
Just when I bring him to the point he commences to 
talk about something else. I declare it's too bad. 

Mr. Hopkins. Sam Jones was sayin' t'other day 
that there'd been as much snow jest eleven years ago, 
but I think Sam's mistaken. It wasn't no sich a snow 
as we've had this winter. 



102 AN UNSUCCESSFUL ADVANCE 

Susannah (aside), Well_, it won't do to give it up. 
I must try again. (To Mr, Hopkins,) How long is 
it^ Mr. Hopkins^ since your wife was laid in the valley.^ 

Mr. Hopkins, Didn't lay her in the valley at all. 
We buried her at the Hill meetin' 'us. All her folks 
were buried there^ and her sister Samantha Jane 
thought she ought to be buried there too. 

Susannah, I was speaking figuratively, Mr. Hop- 
kins, when I asked how long it was since your wife had 
been laid in the valley. Laying a person in the valley 
signifies burying that person. 

Mr. Hopkins. Is that so.'^ Wall, I didn't know 
that. Some people have sich a queer way of talkin*, 
anyhow. Abeout heow long do yeou expect to hold 
eout. Miss Swingletree? I reckon yeou can't last 
more'n four or five years; yeou're beginnin' to look 
purty old. 

Susannah (springing up). What's that you say, Mr. 
Hopkins ? Can I believe my ears ? 

Mr. Hopkins. Hold on^ neow; don't git cranky 
abeout nothin'. You're gittin' purty old and I'm gittin' 
purty old and yeou ought to have somebody to take care 
of you and I ought to have somebody to take care of 
me. Don't you think so, Susannah? 

Susannah (sinks into a chair by his side). Yes, you 
are right, Robert. We each need the sympathy and 
affection of a kind and loving companion. You are so 
constituted that you could be kind to me and I am so 
constituted that I could be kind to you. (Aside.) Oh, 
my! Oh, dear! The blissful moment has arrived! 
He is coming to the point! 

Mr. Hopkins. Yes, as I was sayin', yeou're gittin' 
purty old and I'm gittin' purty old, although I reckon 
yeou're abeout ten years older than I am. (Susannah 
starts as though she would spring up, then sinks back 
into her chair again.) Yes, we ought to have some- 
body to take care of us in our old days. I s'pect yeou 
could git Biddy McPherson to come and live with yeou 



THE VILLAGE MEDDLER lOS 

and take care of jeou, and as for me^ I think I'll go 
and marry Betsey Doolittle. She's a fust-rate — 

Susannah (springing up and screaming). Oh! vil- 
lain! hypocrite! {Mr, Hopkins jumps up and gets his 
hat.) Get out of my house. (Raises a chair as if to 
strike him,) I'll sue you for breach of promise^ sure's 
you live. 

Mr, Hopkins (as he goes out), Betsey's a fine gal. 
(Susannah hurls the chair after him,) 
Curtain, 

Mc Bride. 



THE VILLAGE MEDDLER 



CHARACTERS 

Mr, Hezekiah Screecher. 

Mrs. Tabitha Screecher. 

Miss Hannah Whigley^ An old maid, 

Sam Smith, J boy. 

Scene. — A Room, Tabitha seated. 



Tabitha, Wall, I'm home again. I've had consid'- 
able of a tramp, but it didn't amount to nothin', least- 
ways, I can't see as it is goin' to amount to anything. 
I heard that there was some town lots for sale awful 
cheap over at Higginstown. Jim Larkins, the peddler, 
told me about 'em, and so I ups and goes right over, 
and Hezekiah he'd gone over to Hookertown with a load 
of garden sass, but I thought I'd have to strike quick 
if I got the town lots, so off I started without leavin' 
any word as to where I was agoin'. I s'posed Hezekiah 
would be a good deal startled when he'd come home and 
find I was gone, but I calkilated he'd see me when I cum 
back, and then I could explain where I'd been and 



104 THE VILLAGE MEDDLER 

what I'd been a doin'. Wall^ I'm home now^ and purty 
tired too^ and I reckon it would have been better if I 
hadn't started^ but then if people don't run no risk and 
go to some trouble they'll never make nothin'. And 
that's what I keep tellin' Hezekiah. {Knock at door,) 
Hezekiah^ if it's you^ come in and stop your foolin', 
I'm to hum now. You're allers try in' to act up some 
caper or another. (Rises.) It can't be Hezekiah^ for 
he don't come in. (Goes to door and opens it,) 

Hannah (outside.) Good evenin', Tabitha. 

Tahitha, Land sakes^ Hannah Whigley, is it you? 
I s'posed it was Hezekiah. Come in. 

Enter Hannah Whigley, 

Hannah. Been away from home^ hain't you, Tabitha ? 

Tahitha. Yes, kinder. Take a chair and sit down. 
(Hannah seats herself,) How's all your folks? 

Hannah. Oh, we hain't no reason to complain. I 
s'pose you hain't seen Hezekiah since you cum home ? 

Tahitha. No, I've just got in. Reckon he's out 
around sum'eres. 

Hannah, Then you don't know? 

Tahitha (excitedly). Don't know what? Good 
land, woman, what is it? Has Hezekiah been killed or 
anything happened? 

Hannah. Wuss'n that! wuss'n that! Better he'd 
been killed I reckon fur it'll come purty nigh killin' 
you. 

Tahitha (very much excited). What is it, woman? 
What is it ? Speak, quick ! speak this minute ! Where's 
Hezekiah? Is he dead? 

Hannah. Wuss'n that — wusser than dead. He's 
gone. He's eloped with the widder Hawkins. 

Tahitha, With the widder Hawkins ! No, it can't 
be! it can't he. 

Hannah. Wall, that's the way the story goes and 
it's a flyin' all over the village. You see Hezekiah 
went out the Hookertown road about 10 o'clock to-day 
and about 1 1 o'clock the widder Hawkins went out that 



THE VILLAGE MEDDLER 105 

way too^ and everybody calkilates that they'd meet 
somewheres between this and Hookertown and elope 
fur good. 

Tabitha, Oh^ it can't be ! Oh ! Hezekiah^ are you 
gone ? I hadn't ought to have gone off to Higginstown 
without leavin' word with somebody as to where I was 
goin'. 

Hannah. That's it, Tabitha — that's where the 
trouble started. Now if I had a fond husband I'd 
cling to him; I'd be kind to him; I'd smooth out the 
wrinkles onto his brow; I'd cheer him. No clouds 
should overshadder him — no, indeed ! And I'd not 
git up and run off without tellin' him where I was 
agoin'. 

Tabitha {in distress). Oh, Hezekiah! Oh, Heze- 
kiah, come back to me — come back ! 

Hannah. 1 reckon it won't do any good to holler out, 
*' Come back, Hezekiah — come back." He's too far 
away from you by this time to hear you. Yes, Tabitha, 
you have a solemn warnin' not to do sich a thing again. 

Tabitha. Come to think of it, there can't be any 
truth in it that he has sloped with the widder Haw- 
kins. He hain't a very good opinion of the widder. 

Hannah. Ah! the desatefulness of the male sect! 
Couldn't he talk that way to you, Tabitha? (Taking 
out a paper.^ But I s'posed as how you might have 
some doubts about the matter, so I tuck down the 
notice which was tuck up on Timothy Doolittle's fence, 
jest beyond the past office. I'll read it to you. 
(Reads.) " Notice. Whereas my wife, Tabitha, has 
left my bed and board without just cause or provoca- 
tion, this is to warn all persons against harboring her or 
trusting her on my account, as I will pay no debts of 
her contracting." And right underneath, in big letters 
is the name of Hezekiah Scree cher. 

Tabitha (aroused). Gracious Peter! Aminadab 
and Jehosophat! Did Hezekiah actilly stick up sich a 
notice as that.^ The awful, outrageous, scandalous, 
vituperous man! To go and put up sich a notice as 



106 THE VILLAGE MEDDLER 

that and then run off with the widder Hawkins! I'll 
pursue him to the top of the Rocky Mountains; 111 
chase him across the burnin' sands of Arabia. {Walk- 
ing about, very much excited,^ I'll have him and 111 
wallop him^ or my name's not Tabitha. The mean, on- 
principled, villainous dog! The outrageous, pusillani- 
mous hound! But I'll have him — I'll have him! 
** Whereas my wife, Tabitha, has left my bed and 
board." Why he never had no bed nor board. When I 
married him he had nothin' but an old comfortable and 
two blankets, and as to a feather bed, he never had sich 
a thing till he married me. As fur as the board is con- 
sarned if I had had to depend on him it would have 
been dreadful slim boardin'. And then to say, " left 
my bed and board." But I see how it is. The de- 
sateful, treacherous man had tuck a likin* fur the wid- 
der Hawkins and he put up that notice fur a kind of an 
excuse to get oiF with her. But I'll have him and I'll 
give him sich a wallopin* that he'll wish he'd never seen 
the widder Hawkins. He'll pay no debts of my con- 
tractin' ! I reckon not, but he had to come to me often 
enough to get me to pay his debts. Oh, can it be pos- 
sible that Hezekiah would do sich a thing? I have 
allers considered him an honorable man. Could he de- 
ceive me in sich an outrageous manner? Could he do 
sich a vile thing? Oh, Hezekiah! Hezekiah! But I'll 
chase him; I'll have him; I'll give him sich a trouncin' 
that he'll not forget it as long as he lives. Then he 
may go. Yes, then he can have the onprincipled widder 
Hawkins if he wants her. But I'll have a settlement; 
I'll face him and I'll tell him what I think of him. It's 
lucky I took the money with me or he'd a stole it. 
{Suddenly,) But the spoons — I'll bet they're gone. 
He'd take everything vallyable when he was goin' to 
do sich a mean thing as to run oiF with the widder Haw- 
kins. I'll see. (Goes to back of room and looks for 
valuables,) No, they're here. Everything is here. 
Wall, I'd a thought if he was goin' to do sich a mean 
thing as to run off he'd a tuck everything vallyable that 



THE VILLAGE MEDDLER 107 

he conld lay his hands on. Mebbe he's not gone after 

^ Hannah. But here's the notice that you hev left his 
bed and board. When a man would put up sich a notice 
as that and his wife only gone one night he would run 
off the next day with a woman if he got a chance to 
run And anybody that knows the widder Hawkins as 
well as I know her wouldn't hev any hesitation in saym 
that she'd run off with anybody. She seems detarmined 
to hev another husband in some way. Ah! I know too 
much about the widder Hawkins ! , 

Tabitha. Oh, dear! oh, dear! (Stfs <?ote.n.) 1 
don't know what to think about it. Hezekiah has allers 
been a middlin' sort of a man and now can it be possible 
that he went and stuck up that notice about me and 
then went and run off with the widder Hawkins? Oh 
if he has done it isn't he an ongratef ul sarpint ? (Kz«e« 
and speaks excitedly again.) But if he has itll be a 
Wtter^day for him when I ketch him. J'^.^fh his 
eyes out; FU show him I'm not to be trifled with. 
(Knock at door. Opened by Tabitha.) 

Sam (outside). Good evenin', Mrs. Screecher. 
Tabitha. Good evenin', Sam. Come in. 

Enter Sam Smith. 
Sam. Mrs. Screecher, I reckon I ought to be 
thrashed, but I hope you won't thrash me. 1 11 never 
do sich a thing again. , . , c > 

Tabitha. What have you been dom , bam . 
Sam. You won't thrash me, nor sue me, nor put me 
in jail, will you? 

Tabitha. No, in course not. _ 

Sam. Well, I put up that notice on the fence sayin 
that you had left Mr. Screecher's bed and board, I 

^'%abitha. You did! (Advancing as if to take hold 
of him.) You little varmint! ^ 

Sam. Hold on now -you said you wouldnt do 

nothin'. 



108 THE VILLAGE MEDDLER 

Tahitha. Yes^ I did; but that's all that saves you. 
What under the shinin' sun did you do it for? 

Sam, Well, I just kinder wanted to have some fun; 
didn't know it would be any harm. Mr. Hall, the store- 
keeper, saw me stickin' it up, and this afternoon when 
I was in the store he asked me what I had been stickin* 
up, and I told him. I said I thought it would be a 
purty good joke, as Mr. Screecher had gone away and 
nobody knowed where he was gone. Mr. Hall said I'd 
better get the paper pulled down as soon as possible or 
I might get into trouble. I went this evenin' to take 
down the paper and it was gone. I was gittin' a good 
deal scared and I went and told Mr. Hall, and he said 
I had better come right over here as soon as possible, 
as he had seen you comin' home, and I'd better apologize 
or I might get into a purty bad scrape. That's what 
I'm here for now — I come to apologize. 

Tabitha {taking the paper from Hannah and showing 
it to Sam), Is this the paper? 

Sam. That's it — that's the very paper. 

Enter Hezehiah, hastily, 

Hezehiah, Oh, Tabitha, are you here? Have you 
come? {Rushes up as if to embrace her,) 

Tabitha, Stop ! don't touch me, Hezekiah, till arter 
I ax you a few questions. 

Hezehiah, Don't touch you? Why, Tabitha! You 
hain't got the small-pox or somethin', have you? 

Tabitha, Don't be a fool, Hezekiah. I want to 
know where you have been since yesterday. 

Hezehiah, Where I've been? That's cool! I 
should like to know where you have been all night. 

Tabitha, That's my business; but I've got a few 
questions to put to you and you'd better answer them if 
you value a whole skin. 

Hezehiah, Well, go ahead, but ax them quick. I 
thought you was dead — I thought you had run off, or 
somebody had stole you, or somethin'. Oh, I'm so glad 
you are here! 



THE VILLAGE MEDDLER 109 

Tabitha. Hezekiah, did you run off with the widder 
Hawkins ? 

Hezehiah, Run oiF with the widder Hawkins ! 
Good land of Penobscot ! What would I run ofF with 
the widder Hawkins for? No^ I never run off with the 
widder Hawkins nor anybody else. But I've been 
purty nigh crazy since I found you was gone. 

Tabitha, And you didn't write this notice.^ But I 
know now that you didn% so it's skurcely worth while 
to ax. 

HezeJciah (takes the paper and reads). "Whereas, 
my wife, Tabitha, has left my bed and board without 
just cause or provocation, this is to warn all persons 
against harboring her or trusting her on my account, as 
I will pay no debts of her contracting. 

*' Hezekiah Screecher/^ 
(Angrily,) By hokey, if I could ketch the man that 
did that I'd split him into shoe pegs in less'n no time. 

Sam. I guess I'll be a goin'. (Ea:it Sam.) 

Tabitha, 1 heard that you and the widder Hawkins 
had esloped. You went out the Hookertown road 
about 10 o'clock and then about 11 o'clock the widder 
Hawkins went out the same road. 

Hezekiah. Good land ! And can't the widder Haw* 
kins and me travel on the same road without elopin' } 
By hokey, some long tongued scoundrel has been doin' 
some talkin'. 

Hannah (rising). I guess I'll be a goin'. 

Tabitha. Don't be in a hurry, I want to tell you 
what I think of you. 

Hannah. Oh, I can't wait, I'll have to be a goin'. 
(Exit Hannah.) 

Tabitha. That's the woman that got up all this 
trouble. She came in here and made it so clear to me 
that you had esloped with the widder Hawkins that I 
was purty nigh crazy, and if you hadn't come home to- 
night I'd a been out to-morrow mornin' on the hunt of 
you. 

Hezekiah. She's a meddlesome old maid and she had 



110 JOSIAH^S FIRST COURTING 

ought to be hung up by the neck for an hour or two. 
But this notice — who stuck it up ? 

Tabitha. It was Sam Smith. But he found out he*d 
done a bad thing and he came to apologize. I was a 
little off^ too^ I reckon^ when I sot out to Higginstown to 
buy a town lot or two arter you'd gone to Hookertown 
with the load of garden sass. But I wanted to surprise 
you by buyin' a town lot and making you a present of it. 
I couldn't get home yesterday and then when I couldn't 
get back and you went out the Hookertown road again 
the people got to talkin'. But I think the principal 
talker was Hannah Whigley. 

Hezehiah, Yes, she's a reg'lar old sarpint. {Takes 
Tabitha' s hand and they turn to audience.^ But if the 
audience will look at us now I think they will agree that 
the clouds have rolled away and the storm is over. Our 
troubles now are past. 

Tabitha, And sunshine comes at last. And may all 
meddlers come to grief! 

Curtain, 

McBride. 



JOSIAH'S FIRST COURTING 



CHARACTERS 

Abigaii/ Higgins, a young woman, 

JosiAH Hooper, A young man, slightly verdant, 

Mr. Smith, A neighbor, 

Tom Higgins, Abigail's brother. 

Scene. — A Room. Abigail Higgins, neatly dressed, 
seated with a paper in her hand. 



Abigail, I don't know why Josiah doesn^t come. 
{Rises and walks about.) He said he'd come to-night, 



JOSIAH'S FIRST COURTING 111 

but he hasn't come yet. I do wonder if he means to 
come. He never went a courtin'^ he says^ and mebbe 
hell git scared and not come. It would be kind of 
funny to sit up with a young man. (Seats herself.) I 
never did keep company with a young man and it would 
seem kind of queer. It makes me nervous to think 
about it. Josiah's a scary kind of a feller and like as 
not he'll back out. But of course he needn't be scary; 
there ain't nothin' to be afeared of. I wish he would 
come. I've been thinking about Josiah ever since that 
night of the singin'^ when he asked me about comin' 
over^ and of course^ I said come over. It's about time 
he was here if he's a goin' to come. (Rises and walks 
about,) Oh^ my! I reckon it's seven o'clock^ or mebbe 
it's half past seven^ and he's not here yet. Ah ! I think 
I hear a step. He's comin'! Oh^ dear! what'll I do? 
I guess I'll hardly know how to behave myself. 
(Knock at door,) There! he's at the door. Oh^ my! 
how my heart flutters and jumps ! (Opens door. Tom 
Higgins rushes in laughing.) 

Tom, Ho, ho^ ho ! he^ he^ he^ he^ hi ! Oh^ dear ! Oh^ 
my ! Oh^ ho ! ho ! Isn't this fun ? I reckon you 
thought it was somebody else. (Laughs,) Oh^ ho^ ho! 
Whoop^ he^ he ! 

Abigail. Tom^ what do you mean.^ Go out of the 
room now^ just as fast as possible. 

Tom (still laughing). Oh, ho, ho! I guess you 
thought it was somebody else, didn't you.^ (Laughs.) 
Oh, ho, ho ! I think I could laugh for a week. 

Abigail, 1 don't see nothin' to laugh at. Better go 
now, and not act like an idiot. 

Tom. Oh, you think I don't know who's comin' — he, 
he! And what have you got that dress on for? I 
guess you're lookin' for somebody. 

Abigail. Who'd I be lookin' for? Huh! Better go 
out of the room. 

Tom. Oh, I don't want to go out. I want to see 
him when he comes. 



112 JOSIAH'S FIRST COURTING 

Abigail. Want to see whom? 

Tom, Your feller. He's comin' to-night^ isn't he? 

Abigail, Oh^ Tom^ hush up. As if I'd have any- 
body come to see me ! 

Tom, I'll bet a dollar there's somebody comin'. 

Abigail, Well^ somebody might be comin' for all I 
know. People come in often in the evenin'. 

Tom. But there's a beau comin' to see you. 

Abigail. Oh^ hush^ Tom. As if I would have a 
beau come to see me ! 

Tom. I'll bet a dollar there's somebody comin'. 
What'd you have them clothes on for^ if somebody 
wasn't comin'? 

Abigail. Oh^ Tom_, I wish you would go out of the 
room^ and leave me in peace. 

Tom. Well^ I'll go out^ but I'll come in again purty 
soon to see if he isn't here. {Ea;it Tom.) 

Abigail. I wish that boy'd stay away. He's goin' 
to annoy me with his runnin' in and out. But I wonder 
why Josiah doesn't come. I thought he'd a been here 
afore this time. I wonder if he's sick or anything has 
happened to him. He might have got kicked with 
one of the horses or he might have slipped on the ice 
and fell down and broke his leg or his arm. Well, if 
he's comin' at all he'll certainly be here soon. Ah ! I 
hear him now ! Oh, dear, how my heart thumps ! Yes, 
I hear him now — he's comin' at last. Oh, dear ! 
(Knock at door. She opens it.) 

Mr. Smith (outside), Evenin'. 

Abigail, Oh, Josiah! Oh, no, it's Mr. Smith. I 
thought it was — I couldn't see you in the dark, you 
know. Come in. (He enters,) Take a seat, Mr. 
Smith. (She places a chair for him,) 

Mr. Smith. Oh, I guess it's hardly worth while to 
sit down. (Seats himself.) How's all the folks? 

Abigail, Oh, first rate. How's all your people? 

Mr. Smith, Oh, kinder middlin'. Sarah Ann's been 
havin' a hard time with the neurollygy. 

Abigail. Ah, indeed! (Aside.) I wish he'd hurry 



JOSIAH'S FIRST COURTING 113 

up and tell what he's come after. Wouldn't it be dis- 
tressing if Josiah'd come when he's here? 

Mr, Smith. Yes^ the neurollygy is a very annoyin- 
some thing. Leastways I think it must be. I never 
had it myself^ but the way Sarah Ann carries on when 
she has it, it must be very annoyinsome. Is your 
fayther at home.^ 

AbigaiL No, sir; he went over to the village this 
evenin'. 

Mr, Smith. Do you reckon he'll be back soon? 

Abigail. 1 guess not; he had so many things to buy 
and so much to do. {Aside.) Oh, if he'd stay and 
wait what would I do and Josiah comin'? (To Mr. 
Smith.) I calkilate he'll not be back afore ten 
o'clock. 

Mr. Smith. That's bad. Wanted to see him. 

Abigail. He'll be here in the mornin'. 

Mr. Smith. But I wanted to see him to-night. 
{Rises.) Howemsoever it'll do in the mornin'. Tell 
him to stay at home in the mornin' till I come, will yer, 
Abigail ? 

Abigail. Yes, sir, I will. 

Mr. Smith. Good evenin'. 

Abigail. Good evenin', Mr. Smith. (Exit Mr. 
Smith.) I'm glad he's gone. My, oh! if Josiah had 
come when he was here, wouldn't it have been a fix? 
But I do wonder why Josiah doesn't come. It must be 
half past seven o'clock, or mebbe more'n that, and he 
isn't here yet. I do wonder what's a keepin' him. 
Mebbe he'll give it up and not come at all. Oh, dear! 
how disappointed I'd feel if he'd do that. Mebbe 
somethin's turned up so's he couldn't come. Mebbe 
he's got hurt or somethin'. Oh, I wish he'd come soon 
if he's goin' to come. Ah ! don't I hear somethin' now ? 
Yes, I do. I feel purty sure it's Josiah. (Opens 
doon.) 

Josiah (outside). Good evenin', Abigail. 

Abigail. Oh, it is you, Josiah? Come in; come in 
quick, so's nobody will see you. 



114 JOSIAH'S FIRST COURTING 

Enter Josiah with a tall hat on. 

Josiah, Yes^ I — I — will. My ! I feel kind of 
tired^ or kind of tuckered out^ or somethin'. 

Abigail, Have you been runnin'^ Josiah? 

Josiah, No^ but this's — you know this's the first 
time. This's the first time^ you know, I ever went a 
courtin', and I feel kind of scared or somethin'. I 
never felt so afore. 

Abigail. Take a seat, Josiah; take a seat and you'll 
feel better. (Josiah seats himself.) Now give me 
your hat. Oh, goodness, Josiah, where'd you get so 
much hat.^ 

Josiah. I bought it, and it cum purty high, too. I 
thought I ought to have it, you know, for this occasion. 
I'd heard it said that when a young feller went a 
courtin' he ought to have a tall hat. 

Abigail {holding his hat in her hand and looking at 
it). It's a purty nice hat, Josiah; it makes you look 
tall and kinder stylish. 

Josiah. Yes, that's what I s'posed. And, of course, 
I wanted to look that way when I was comin' over here 
a sparkin*. 

Abigail (putting his hat on the table). Oh, you 
allers look that way, Josiah. 

Josiah. Now, Abigail, do you railly think so.^ 

Abigail. Indeed I do, Josiah. (Abigail seats her- 
self.) 

Josiah. Well, I'm purty glad to hear it. And I 
always thought you was kinder stylish too, Abigail. 
And then you're kinder nice — sort of gentle and not 
stuck up like some girls I know. 

Abigail. Oh, Josiah. 

Josiah. Yes, it's a fact. I don't like stuck up, 
highfalutin' girls. 

Abigail. I don't either. (A pause. Josiah clasps 
his hands and twirls his thumbs.) 

Josiah. I — you know — that is, Abigail, I never 
went a courtin' afore and — I — and I hardly know 
what to talk about. 



JOSIAH'S FIRST COURTING 115 

Abigail. Oh, I suppose you ought just to talk about 
anything, like we do at singin' school, or any other 
place. 

Josiah. My ! is that the way ? Well, I didn't know, 
but I supposed — or I kinder thought that you ought 
to talk about marryin' — or somethin* of that kind. 

Abigail, Oh, you needn't talk about sich things as 
that unless you want to. 

Josiah (bashfully) , But mebbe I'd like to talk that 
way. I ain't quite sure, but I — I think I would. 

Abigail. Well, Josiah, you may talk that way if you 
want to. You know you can talk about just what you 
please. Nobody will hear you but me. 

Josiah. I — well, Abigail, what did you think of 
the singin' school last Friday night? 

Abigail. Oh, I thought it was purty good. 

Josiah. I s'pose you knowed about Dan Hookerton? 

Abigail. No; what was it? 

Josiah. Why, he went home with Sally Scovendyke. 

Abigail. You don't say! 

Enter Tom. 

Tom. Abigail, did you see anything of the boot- 
jack? {To Josiah.) Good evenin'. Si. I didn't see 
you. 

Josiah. How de do, Tom? 

Abigail. No, I didn't see anything of the boot-jack. 
Of course the boot-jack wouldn't be in here. 

Tom. I didn't know but what it might have got in 
here. Well, I s'pose I'll have to hunt it up. Hello ! I 
see you've got a new hat. D'ye think you can stand 
up under a stovepipe? 

Josiah. Yes, I guess so. 

Abigail. The boot-jack isn't in here. 

Tom. No, I reckon not, but I'll hunt it up. (To 
Josiah.) Are you goin' to the spellin' school next 
Wednesday night? 

Josiah. Oh, I don't know; I reckon I will. 

Abigail. The boot-jack isn't in this room. 



116 JOSIAH'S FIRST COURTING 

Tom, No^ I s'pose not, but I'll go and hunt it up. 
{Exit Tom,) . 

Abigail, Tom is such a bother. 

Josiah. 1 think he's goin' to interfere with my 
courtin' tonight. 

Abigail, No, I think not. I don't think he'll come 
in again. 

Josiah {rising and putting on his hat). Well, I 
s'pose it's about time I was goin' home. 

Abigail, Oh, Josiah, what's your hurry? Why, 
you've only just come. Sit down and stay awhile. 

Josiah, Well, I s'pose a feller oughtn't to stay long 
the first time. You see I never went a courtin' and I 
don't jest know what to do. 

A bigail. Yes, I know, but it will be all right for you 
to stay awhile. I want to talk to you a spell and hear 
the news. 

Josiah, Well, I'll stay awhile if you say so, but I 
believe I'll jest keep my hat on. I believe I could do 
better with my hat on. {Sits down and keeps his hat 
on his head,) 

Abigail. That'll be all right. You look purty nice 
with that hat on. 

Josiah, I feel more comfortable too when I have it 
on. I allers did think I'd like to have a stove-pipe 
hat. 

Abigail, And I allers thought you'd look purty slick 
if you had one. 

Josiah, You did ! Why didn't you tell me so long 
ago and I'd got one? 

Abigail, Oh, of course, I didn't want to speak to 
you on such a delicate subject. 

Josiah, And you think I look purty well — do you ? 

Abigail Oh, yes, you do, Josiah. 

Josiah, You know, Abigail, I never went a courtin' 
afore — this is the first time — and I jest don't exactly 
know how to do. As fur as you know about it, do you 
think the gal and the feller that's a courtin' sit as fur 
apart as you and me's been a doin' this evenin'? 



JOSIAH'S FIRST COURTING 117 

Abigail, Oh^ I don't know much about it, Josiah. 
But I guess it would be all right for us to sit a little 
closer. 

Josiah. Well, I didn't know. I s'pose there's some 
rules and regelations about sich things. I kinder 
thought I'd like to sit a little closer. (Josiah sets his 
chair closer, but still at some distance from Abigail,) 

Abigail. 1 guess it will be all right. 

Josiah (seating himself). And, you know, we won't 
have to talk so loud when we're sittin' this way. 

Abigail. Yes, that's so, Josiah. 

Josiah. And who knows but Tom might be hangin' 
round the door and listenin' to us when we're talkin' so 
loud.? 

Abigail. Yes, that's so, Josiah. (A pause.) 

Josiah (with his hands clasped and twirling his 
thumbs). I s'pose — or I reckon — (A pause.) I 
was jest goin' to say that I reckon I might come back 
again sometime soon a courtin' if it'd be all right and 
you didn't care, nor nuthin'. 

Abigail. Of course I wouldn't care, Josiah. 

Josiah. Then I'll come back. Oh, if I could come 
here jest reg'lar wouldn't I be tickled.? 

Abigail. Well, Josiah, of course you can come 
reg'lar. 

Josiah (jumping up). Jehosophat ! You don't say 
so ! If I wasn't afeard of makin' a noise I'd jump and 
holler. 

Abigail. You know I allers thought a great deal of 
you, Josiah. 

Josiah. I didn't know it. Geewhittaker ! Don't I 
feel tickled about it.? Oh, Abigail, you're jest the 
slickest, sweetest gal in the hull county. I'm glad I 
axed you about comin' over a courtin'. I was a'most 
af eared to do it, but I went ahead and now I'm here, 
and I'm goin' to come some more. (Seats himself.) 

Abigail. You were allers a nice kind of a feller, 
Josiah, and people couldn't help likin' you, and you 
certainly are improving. 



118 JOSIAH'S FIRST COURTING 

Josiah. And I reckon my hat helps my looks con- 
s id 'able ? 

Abigail. Yes^ you have a nice tall hat and you are 
real stylish lookin'. 

Josiah. How'd it be for us to set our chairs a little 
closer together? I reckon it would be all right? 

Abigail. Oh^ yes^ I reckon it would. 

Josiah (rising and setting his chair close to Abi" 
gaiVs). I calkilate that'll be better. (Sits down.) 
And Tom can't hear what we're saying now if he is a 
hangin' round the door. 

Abigail (starting). Josiah^ I thought I heard a 
noise. 

Josiah (hastily removing his chair to the place it 
stood before and sitting down). You did? Like as 
not that Tom's around again. I guess we'd better 
keep this sittin'. 

Abigail. Yes^ I guess we had. 

Josiah. Do you reckon it's time for me to go home 
yet? You know I never went a courtin' afore and I 
don't know jest what to do. 

Abigail. Oh^ it isn't late. You can stay awhile yet. 

Josiah. But I'm kinder af eared Tom's coming in. 

Abigail. Yes, Tom might come in, but you are doin' 
all right, Josiah; you hain't done nothing wrong 
yet. 

Josiah. I'm awful glad to hear you say that. 
(Rises.) >But I guess I'll be a goin'. I'd like to ax 
you one thing afore I go, 

Abigail (rising). Well, Josiah, go on and ask it. 

Josiah (bashfully). Well — I — I — I'd kinder — 

Abigail. Well, Josiah — 

Josiah. I — I — I'd kinder. You know I never 
went a courtin' afore and I'd like to — or — or — I'd 
kinder like to know if it would be right to kinder — 
kinder — kiss somebody afore I'd go. 

Abigail. Oh, Josiah, you make me blush. 

Josiah. By hokey! I don't care whether it's right 
or wrong I'll go ahead and kiss you anyhow. (He 



IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN 119 

catches her and in trying to kiss her his hat falls off. 
As he kisses her Tom enters.) 

Tom (shouting). Hi! Ho! Whoop! Ho! He! 
Abigail, Oh^ you Tom. 

Josiah (hastily getting his hat off the floor). Oh, 
thunderation ! Grindstones and wheelbarrows ! There's 
Tom. (^Rushes out.) 

Curtain, 

McBride. 



IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN 



CHARACTERS 

Van Gordon Stafford^ A wealthy and eccentric Old 
Bachelor, boarding with Mrs, Chapman. 

Charles Mansfield^ Lucinda Chapman^s Betrothed 
Husband. 

Patrick McMurtrie^ Mrs. Chapman's Man of all 
Work, 

Mrs. Chapman. 

Lucinda Chapman. 

Scene. — A Room in Mrs. Chapman's House. Table, 
back C, with vase of flowers. Sofa, R. Chairs, L. 
Entrance, R. and L, Patrick discovered. 



Pat, Bedad, an' I think that Misther Stafford is one 
of the quarest min on the face av the airth. Whin he 
tells me to do somethin' an' I be afther doin' it^ it won't 
be five minutes ontil he'll say ** Sthop that — what are 
ye about? " Faix^ an' I dunno what the ould lady is a 
kapin' him here for^ but thin I reckon he doesn't bother 
the ould lady nor the young lady the way he bothers 
me. And the ould gintleman's got money^ too^ an' he 
whacks down the granebacks mighty loosely too whin 



120 IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN 

he's payin' his board bill. I guess the ould lady is 
about right in holdin' on to him^ but thin he is sich a 
throuble. Here's the ould gintleman now. (Going R,) 

Enter Van Gordon Stafford, L. 

Van Gordon, Hello^ Pat! what are you doing here.^ 
Get out of this. Don't you know this is my room ? 

Pat, Faix^ an' I do^ and be the twisters I'm goin' as 
fast as me two throtters can carry me. 

Van Gordon, Stop ! Come back ! Don't run away 
like as if you were chased by a bear. 

Pat, Begorra^ an' it's jist about as bad. That is, 
I mane I'm not afeared of ye^ sir. 

Van Gordon, Well^ you'd better be. 

Pat, Misther Stafford, I'll fetch ye some paches. 
Don't ye like paches? 

Van Gordon. Why should you bring me peaches^ or 
anything else.^ Nobody cares for me. 

Pat (aside), Now's my chance to give him a touch 
av the most excillent blarney. (To Van Gordon.) 
Nobody cares for je? Faix, an' that's where ye're out 
intirely. Why, Misther Van Gordon Stafford, shure 
an' I'd do a'most anything to oblige ye. I'd fetch ye 
paches, I'd fetch ye apples, I'd fetch ye anything at 
all. I'd travel through wather to oblige ye. I'd s\^im 
clane across a river; I'd sit up wid ye a whole night; 
yis^ I'd sit up wid ye a whole wake, if ye was sick, an' 
I'd make nothin' av it at all, at all. Not care for ye! 
Be the howly pertaters, an' that's where ye're mis- 
thaken. Why, Misther Van Gordon Stafford, I'd 
climb to the tap ave the Bocky Mountains for ye — I'd 
climb — 

Van Gordon. Stop! That's enough! I'm afraid 
it's all talk and no cider with you. 

Pat, Bedad, an' ye don't know me. I'm an Irish- 
man ; an' did ye iver know an Irishman to run away an* 
lave a gintleman in throuble? Yis, sur, I've cum from 
Ireland (sighs) y an' I've got some f rinds over there, 
an' I'm mighty 'fraid they're gittin' into throuble. 



IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN 121 

Niver a word have I heard from thim fur siven wakes, 
an' whin I did hear my poor ould father was lyin' in 
bed wid the faver^ an' my mother was ailin' some, an' 
Feggy was about to lave thim an' go an' live in a rich 
ould gintleman's family. And, be jabers, I hain't had 
a wurrud from Bridget Mulravey fur three wakes. 

Van Gordon, And who is Bridget Mulravey? 

Pat (trying to blush), Faix, an' she's my girrul. I 
thought I'd a got money an' sint over for her long ago, 
but I've been sick meself, an' I can't make any money 
at all, at all. 

Van Gordon, Get out of this, you whining Irish- 
man. (Pat goes toivards door.) Stop ! Don't stay 
long — I'll want you. 

Pat (aside, as he goes out). Be the howly pitchers, 
I think ye are a quare ould gintleman. (Exit Pat, R,) 

Van Gordon, I wonder if that Irishman is as good 
as he tries to make me believe he is. I'll put him to the 
test. Yes, that will be glorious fun, and it will keep 
me from dying with the blues. And if he is a kind- 
hearted Irishman — if he is noble and generous — I'll 
reward him liberally — yes, I'll shower the money upon 
him. He shall send for his sweetheart and for his old 
father and mother, and his sister Peggy and his Uncle 
Bob, if he has an Uncle Bob, and all of his Irish 
friends, and I'll set them up in neat little houses. 
Yes, glorious idea ! I'll have an Irish town — and I'll 
live with them. Hold on! I'll not promise that. 
Live with a lot of Irish men and Irish women and Irish 
children.^ Well, no, I guess not! I'd rather be ex- 
cused. But I'll shower the gold upon them, and I'll 
make Pat feel as large as the king of the Cannibal 
Islands. But if he doesn't stand the test, ah ! how I 
will wither him with my eloquence. I'll make a 
speech — yes, I'll make a powerful speech, and the 
walls shall ring and the rafters shall tremble as I pour 
out my denunciations upon the poor boasting Irish- 
man. Oh, won't it be glorious fun! And it will en- 
able me to pass another day in this stupid old place. 



122 IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN 

Yes^ 111 take sick suddenly with something dreadful — 
cholera^ or small-pox^ or yellow fever^ or — hold^ it 
shall be a new disease^ and I'll make the Irishman be- 
lieve that it is worse than cholera or small-pox^ and 
that if he comes near me or takes my hand he will be a 
gone Irishman. Oh^ this will be glorious fun ! I think 
I can already see him open his eyes and tremblingly 
say, " Be jabers, 111 have to go! " And when he gets 
out of the room 111 call him back, and then 111 tower 
up to my fullest height and commence my speech of de- 
nunciation. Yes, that's the plan. Ha! ha! But I 
must have a smoke. Ill retire to the porch, and as I 
smoke 111 think the matter over. {Exit Van Gor 
don, L,) 

Enter Lucinda Chapman and Charles Mansfield, R, 

Lucinda, Mr. Stafford is out, and I wish to show 
you my wax flowers. Come in. I placed them here to 
give the room a more cheerful appearance. I made 
them this week, and, do you know, I never took a lesson. 
Think of that, Charles, and smile. 

Charles » Smile! Why should I smile? Lucinda, 
I am discouraged and disheartened. It seems that I 
will never be able to claim you as my wife. One 
trouble follows another, and — 

Lucinda. Hush, Charles! Don't complain. I 
know what you have had to encounter and endure. 
Keep a brave heart, and all will be well. 

Charles, But haven't I been trying to be brave, and 
haven't I been working and planning.^ And how much 
nearer are we to the consummation of our hopes than 
we were at the commencement of our engagement? 
Indeed, it seems that we are drifting apart. 

Lucinda, You do not mean it? 

Charles, No; forgive me. I am so unhappy I can- 
not express myself properly. I mean that, instead of 
my prospects becoming brighter, they are becoming 
darker. The clouds are growing more heavy and low- 
ering. 



IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN 123 

Lucinda. Do not despond, dear Charles; we are 
young yet^ and can wait a year or two. 

Charles, We have waited two years already, Lu- 
cinda. I must make a bold stroke of some kind. I 
cannot go on in this dreary^ monotonous way. It is 
work, work, work, and never make any progress. I 
will do something. 

Lucinda. But what will you do? 

Charles, I'll go away — I'll go to the West — 111 
go to California — I'll go any place. I cannot stay 
here. I must find a business at which I can make more 
money. 

Lucinda. And instead of making more money you 
may make less. You may get sick, and you know that 
this is quite probable, as you are never strong. And 
then, when you are far from home, and lying upon a bed 
of sickness, you will think of the little house among the 
hills, and sigh for the kind acts and the cheerful words 
which only the loved ones at home can give. 

Charles. But you know I am making nothing here* 
It is a retrograde movement with me. I have lost in a 
wild speculation the little money I had; my father is a 
cripple, and my mother is in poor health. My only 
brother, you know, is wild and reckless, and is travel- 
ing fast on the road to ruin. I must look after him oc- 
casionally — it would not be brotherly if I did not ; yet, 
with all my efforts, I cannot save him. He seems bent 
on his own destruction. 

Lucinda. Well, Charles, I have thought the matter 
over, and I am ready to marry you now. 

Charles. Now ? 

Lucinda (laughs). ^ Ha! ha! Don't look so terribly 
frightened, or I shall think you don't want to marry me. 

Charles. But you do not consider. Why, Lucinda, 
I am barely able to support myself and my parents. 

Lucinda. And if you can support three persons, 
don't you think I can support one.^ If you don't, you 
must have a poor opinion of me. 

Charles. Yes — but — I want you to live in style. 



124 IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN 

Lucinda, And I don't choose to live in style^ as you 
call it. When I promised to marry you, I did so be- 
cause I loved you, not because I wanted to live in style. 
I abominate style. Do you think I am going to sit 
down and do nothing, and let you work to support me? 
I think I shall not consent to any arrangement of that 
kind. I should not feel that I was a woman if I 
should. 

Charles. What a brave little woman you are ! And 
how eloquent you can be ? But I am not quite sure that 
this would be proper. 

Lucinda, I am quite sure of it. I know what is 
keeping you back, and I do not feel that I am over- 
stepping the bounds of propriety in talking to you in 
this way. I know you have had high ideas about how 
I should live, but I know I am going to help you work. 
We are going to work together and climb up together. 
If I fall, you will be present to assist me, and if you 
fall, I intend to assist you. I promised to marry you 
because I loved you, and because I expected to be a 
help-mate. 

Charles. Noble woman ! Lucinda, you are a 
treasure. I shall always prize you, and shall endeavor 
to make you happy. 

Lucinda, But see my wax flowers. I had almost 
forgotten to talk about them. Mother says I am a 
splendid housekeeper, and when I can keep house and 
make wax flowers too, am I not at least able to support 
myself ? 

Charles. Yes. 

Lucinda, Why don't you praise the flowers? 

Charles. They are beautiful. 

Lucinda, Oh, but you say it as if you were com- 
pelled. Uncle John says I can make my fortune at 
this work. Think of that! And when I do make my 
fortune I will share it with you. 

Charles. Noble, beautiful, brave woman! 

Lucinda, Oh, don't praise me — praise the flowers. 
But come, we'll go to the orchard. Mr. Staff*ord is 



I 



IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN 125 

particularly fond of peaches^ and I'm going to give 
him peaches and cream for supper. You shall have 
some too^ Charley. {Exit Lucinda and Charles, R,) 

Enter Van Gordon Stafford, L, 

Van Gordon, Well, that goes ahead of anything IVe 
heard for the last six years. Of course I didn't want 
to hear it, but then to get up and run away when that 
woman was talking — well, it was simply impossible. 
Caesar Augustus ! Wasn't she eloquent ! IVe heard 
of persons by their eloquence rooting other persons to 
the spot. Lucinda must be a rooter, for I certainly 
was rooted. I didn't know we had any such women 
these days. I could marry that woman myself. But 
then, ah! — yes, I'm too old to marry, and she's got a 
lover. That Charles is a lucky dog. There are not 
many men now-a-days that get into the silken tie with 
such women as Lucinda. And she's a model house- 
keeper, too. Everything neat and clean, and such 
snowy bread, and such delightful coffee! I couldn't 
have stayed here two days if I hadn't had such elegant 
treatment and such magnificent boarding. And Charles 
and Lucinda have decided to marry, and Charles ap- 
pears to shrink back somewhat on account of the state 
of his pocket-book. {Laughs,) Ha I ha! Well, he's a 
noble fellow. It is better not to rush into matrimony 
unless you are sure that you are going to be tied to a 
good woman. But Lucinda — yes, Lucinda — she's 
splendid. As Charles remarked, she's noble, beautiful, 
and brave. Ah, Charles, you are a lucky fellow. 
Well, I'll arrange matters so that Charles will cease to 
shrink from the noose matrimonial. Yes, I'll give Lu- 
cinda' one thousand dollars, and then, to prevent a cool- 
ness in the family, I'll give Charles one thousand dol- 
lars, too. They can set up housekeeping on this, and 
they can get along comfortably. Oh, Charley, old boy, 
go ahead, and I'll attend to the money matters. But 
what's to become of me? Ah, that's the question. If 
Lucinda and Charley get married, Mrs. Chapman will 



126 IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN 

shut up shop, and 1*11 be out of a boarding place. 
Caesar Augustus! The thought startles me. Yes, I 
guess it will do. Things look mighty neat and clean 
about this little house, and perhaps, after all, the old 
lady should receive more credit than the young lady. 
I've a good mind to marry her. The thought has just 
come to me. Yes, I will marry her — that is, provided 
I can get her. I've been a rover — I have traveled all 
over the world, and I am satisfied. I'll end my days 
here, provided Mrs. Chapman will allow me. I have 
been a discontented man — I've been on the point two 
or three times of blowing out my brains, but I'm glad 
now I didn't — that is, if Mrs. Chapman will accept 
my proposal. Hello, I'd forgot about that wild Irish- 
man. I'll call him in. (Goes to door L, and calls,) 
Ho, Patrick ! Hello ! 

Pat (outside). Yis, sur; I'm comin' as fast as I kin 
travel. 

Van Gordon. Now I'll prepare to receive him. 
Won't I frighten the poor fellow? I'll lie down here 
and take the — the — what will I take ? Yes, it shall 
be the tippertiwitchet. (Lies down on sofa.) Oh, 
Patrick ! will you not come ? 

Enter Pat, L. 

Pat. Faix, an' I will. What sames to be the 
mather? 

Van Gordon. Stand back ! Don't touch me ! Keep 
away ! It is the tippertiwitchet. 

Pat, Tipperte-what ? Be the howly pitchers I niver 
heerd av that afore. An' it's took ye mighty suddin 
too. 

Van Gordon. That's the way. It comes suddenly. 
(PcBt advances a step.) Stand back — keep away — 
don't touch me^ or you are a dead man. 

Pat. Shall I run fur some docthor, an' git the med- 
icine ? 

Van Gordon. No, no; doctors can do no good. 
And they wouldn't come. Stand back — keep away ! 



IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN 127 

Pat, Bedad, I think ye're a little wrong in the upper 
sthory. 

Van Gordon. No^ no; I'm perfectly sane. It is tip- 
pertiwitchet. Never touch anybody that has the tip- 
pertiwitchet^ or you are a dead man. Oh^ if I could 
only sit up I would feel better. {Attempts to rise.) 

Pat {advancing). Be jiggers, an' if that's all ye 
want I'll give ye a hoist. 

Van Gordon. No, no — keep away ! You don't 
know what you are doing. 

Pat. Whist, be aisy. {Takes hold of Van Gordon, 
raising him up.) How d'ye fale now.^* 

Van Gordon. Oh, Patrick ! you don't know what you 
have done. 

Pat. Well, I didn't do much. I only give ye a hoist 
up, an' if ye are any more comfortable I shall be mighty 
glad. 

Van Gordon {groans). Oh! oh! what will become of 
your poor old father and mother and your sweet- 
heart ? 

Pat. Faith, an' if I take the tipperte-what-ever-you- 
call-it, nobody will miss me much. Somebody will take 
care of the ould folks, an' Bridget will get along. I 
am a sthranger in a sthrange land, an' if I take the 
cherwitchets there's no great harm done. But cher- 
witchet or no cherwitchet, I'm niver goin' to desart a 
man that is in throuble an' difficulty. I'll stand by ye, 
ye may fale shure av that, an' I'll not lit the ould lady 
nor the young lady come near ye. I'll kape them away, 
an' whin ye are gone, Misther Stafford, I'll take care av 
ye, that is, if I don't take the cherwitchets afore ye are 
put away. 

Van Gordon, That will do, Patrick. The tipperti- 
witchet has passed off, and I am well. 

Pat. Hooray fur the tipperte-hatchet ! But I 
thought you said it was shure death. Do you think I'll 
have a sphell av it? 

Van Gordon. No, you will escape. I was only 
playing a part. 



128 IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN 

Pat. Be gobbs^ an' ye played it as natural as life. 

Van Gordon. You said you would stand by me in 
any trouble — you said you would do almost anything 
for me, and I thought I would put you to the test. 

Pat. An' ye doubted my wurrud? Misther Staf- 
ford, don't ye know I'm an Irishman? 

Van Gordon. Yes, but I haven't perfect faith in all 
Irishmen, nor in all Americans either, for that matter. 
But I am satisfied. Pat, you are a noble fellow. 

Pat. That's jist what Bridget Mulravey says. 

Fan Gordon. You don't know that I am wealthy. 
I have thousands of dollars. I'll reward you liberally 
for your self-sacrificing devotion to me. I'll give you 
two thousand dollars now, and more if you need it. 

Pat. Howley Jim Flanegan ! 

Van Gordon. You shall send for your sweetheart 
and for your father and mother, and you shall be 
happy. 

Pat. Jimminy j ebunders ! ye don't mane it ! 

Van Gordon. Yes, I mane it. It shall be so. 

Pat. What'll I say an' what'll I do? Faix, an' I 
dunno which I'm standin' on, me head or me fate. 
How can I thank ye? 

Van Gordon. Say nothing about thanks. I under- 
stand you, and I appreciate your feelings. Go and 
call Mrs. Chapman and Lucinda and Charles. 

Pat. Be the Slocums, misther, I'll do that or any- 
thing else for ye. (Ea:it Pat, R,) 

Van Gordon. An excellent Irishman, and I've made 
him so happy he scarcely knows what he is doing. I'm 
glad I came to this place. If I had not come I could 
not have assisted Lucinda and Charles, and I could 
never have found this true-hearted Irishman. I have 
heard it said that the secret of happiness consists in 
making others happy. I am now beginning to believe 
it. 

Enter Pat, Lucinda and Charles, and Mrs. Chapman, R. 
Pat, Here we are, sir. {Turning and speaking to 



IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN 129 

Lucinda, Charles, and Mrs. Chapman,) This is the 
most noble gintleman on the top av the ground. 

Van Gordon, Be careful^ Pat; don't be too extrava- 
gant in your praises. 

Pat, Faix^ an' it's all thrue. Oh! I could tell ye's 
something wonderful. 

Van Gordon. Don't tell us anything wonderful now, 
Pat; we are not prepared to receive it. Mrs. Chapman, 
you will probably be surprised at what I am about to 
say; but with me, to think is to act. I have been a 
roving, discontented man, and have wandered all over 
the world, but now I am growing old, and I want to 
settle down and live in peace and quietness, Mrs. 
Chapman, there are silver threads in my hair, and you, 
too, are well up in years. It would therefore be ridicu- 
lous for me to indulge in sentimentalism. Since I 
have been here I have admired you, and have been 
pleased with the taste displayed by you in keeping your 
house. I have but one question to ask you, Mrs. Chap- 
man, and that is. Will you be my wife? 

Mrs. Chapman. You are sudden, and you startle me. 

Pat (to Mrs, Chapman) o Faix, he's a gintleman — 
ivery inch of him. 

Mrs. Chapman, I will not attempt to conceal the 
fact that I have also admired you. It is sudden, but I 
suppose you want an answer now. 

Van Gordon. Yes. 

Pat {to Mrs. Chapman) . Bedad, an' he's a splindid 
man — ivery inch a gintleman. 

Mrs, Chapman, I consent — I will be your wife. 
{Van Gordon goes to her and takes her hand,) 

Pat {swings his hat). Hooray! Hooray! This is 
beautiful. Begorra, an' ye're the bist man in the state 
av Ireland. 

Van Gordon {to Mrs, Chapman). 1 thank you for 
your confidence, and shall endeavor to be worthy of 
you. {To Lucinda and Charles,) I unintentionally 
overheard a conversation a few minutes ago between 
you, Lucinda Chapman, and you, Charles Mansfield, 



130 IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN 

and I am happy to say that I can remove all obstacles 
that may seem to be in the way. And if you wish to 
get married to-day^ or to-morrow^ go ahead. I have 
money — plenty of it^ and I have decided to present 
each of you with one thousand dollars. This will en- 
able you to set up housekeeping in tolerable style^ and 
if you prove to be good and dutiful children I will have 
more for you. 

Lucinda, Oh^ Mr. Stafford ! do you mean it ? 

Charles. How can we thank you? 

Van Gordon. By saying nothing more about it. I 
understand and appreciate your feelings^ but I don't 
want you to make a fuss, nor get up a scene of thank- 
fulness. I have been lucky enough to obtain the proud 
position of step-father to Lucinda_, as you have wit- 
nessed, and I will see that none of the families repre- 
sented here shall come to want. {To audience,^ I 
have learned, too, that if you want to be happy you 
must — {Turning to Pat.) Mr. McMurtrie, you under- 
stand me. Will you make the closing speech ? 

Pat. Faix, yis, I'd do anything to accommodate ye, 
for ye're a gintleman, ivery inch av ye. {To audi- 
ence.) Misther StaflFord wishes me to say that if you 
want to be happy you must strive to make others happy. 
This is the true sacret of happiness. And while I'm a 
spakin' to ye's, I want to say again that Misther Staf- 
ford's a splendid man — he is Ivery Inch a Gintle- 
man. 

Mc Bride, 



ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS 131 

ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS 



CHARACTERS 

Robert Clarendon. Joshua Hopkins. 

Arabella Taylor. Mary Taylor. 

Scene. — A well- furnished room, Arabella and Mary 
discovered. 



Arabella, Now^ Mary^ I am going to read you a lec- 
ture. Yesterday evening when Mr. Clarendon called, 
you were impudent enough to thrust yourself into his 
presence again. He had not been here ten minutes 
before you came into the parlor^ under the pretense of 
looking for a book or some other article, when I know 
you only wanted to get a look at Mr. Clarendon, and 
wanted him to look at you. 

Mary, Oh, Arabella! You are very unjust. Aunt 
commanded me to come in for a book which was then 
on the table, or I am sure I would not have troubled 
you. 

Arabella. Do you expect me to believe this? 

Mary. Probably your mother will tell you if I do 
not speak the truth. I said to her that I thought you 
would not care to be disturbed, but she told me to go 
in immediately, and she said she didn't care whether 
you were displeased or not. 

Arabella, To your duplicity and vanity you are novr 
adding the accomplishment of telling falsehoods. I 
understand you. You are vain enough to think that 
you can win Mr. Clarendon over to yourself, and so 
you put yourself in his way as much as possible. 

Mary, Oh, Arabella, why are you so unjust? I be- 
lieve Mr. Clarendon to be an honorable gentleman. He 
has always spoken kindly to me, but I certainly do not 
want to stand in your way, Arabella. 



132 ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS 

Arabella, Then why do you so constantly throw 
yourself in his way? 

Mary. I have not intentionally done so yet. 

Arabella. Oh^ I have no patience with you. I know 
that you have at different times shown yourself when 
you had no business to do so. Now^ I want you to un- 
derstand that this must not be done again. Mr. Clar- 
endon would never think of marrying a poor givl, and 
you should understand how to keep your place. 

Mary. Arabella ! 

Arabella. You look as if you had some thoughts of 
taking a cry, but that would be useless. We don't 
want a scene. I have told you at different times that 
you must keep out of the way when Mr. Clarendon 
comes, but you will thrust yourself forward. Now if 
you do so again I will see that you take up your abode 
in another house. You act as though you did not feel 
at all grateful for the home you have here. 

Mary. You shall not speak so to me again, Arabella. 
I will leave the house to-morrow. Your father has 
been kind to me, but you and your mother have treated 
me as though I stood far below you, and you have done 
so because my parents were poor, and because I am 
poor. No woman shall talk to me as you have done. 
If I am poor I consider myself your equal. I can 
work for a living; that is nothing more than I have been 
doing here. I am willing to work, but I am not willing 
to be trampled upon. You are wealthy, but you must 
not talk to me again as you have done to-day. You are 
my cousin — 

Enter Joshua Hopkins, R. 

Joshua. Yas, and she's a cousin of mine too, by 
hokey ! 

Arabella. Who are you? 

Joshua. Why I'm your cousin. Josh Hopkins, of 
Turkey Run. I declare I'm rail eout and eout glad 
tew see yeou. Give us your hand. {Offers to shake 
hands,) 



ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS 133 

Arabella (steps back). Keep away; I don't know 
you. 

Joshua, Don't know me? Wall^ neow^ that's a good 
one ! Come to think of it, maybe yeou don't know me, 
'cos yeou haint seed me fur a consid'able spell. (To 
Mary,) And this is my other cousin, Mary Taylor. 
How dew yeou dew, Mary.^ Yeou air a right smart 
lookin' gal. Will yeou shake hands } 

Mary. Certainly. (They shake hands,) I have 
not seen you for many years, but I know there can be 
no mistake. How have you been? 

Joshua, Oh, I been reasonable, but Becky Jane's 
been awfully tuck deown with the rheumatiz ! can't git 
nothin' to do her a mite of good. Aunt Keziah Smith's 
been a poulticin' and a plasterin' her and a givin' her 
yarb tea, but it ain't no kind o' use. 

Mary, Are the rest of the family well? 

Joshua, Yas, the rest are all gittin' along tip-top. 
Dad's been splittin' wood and tearin' reound this 
summer jest as if he warn't more'n twenty years of 
age. Wall, Arabella, feel like speakin' ' tew me 
neow ? 

Arabella, No, I don't know you. Why are you 
here ? 

Joshua, Yeou don't know me? Wall, neow, that 
beats all natur'. Don't yeou know that when we were 
little folks we used tew go to school together deown 
tew the Turkey Run school-'us? And I reckon yeou 
don't mind how yeou flopped into the big pond deown 
below the old meetin-'us, and how I jumped in and 
pulled yeou eout? 

Arabella, Go away, sir; you are an impostor. 

Joshua. And I reckon yeou don't mind how your 
dad and my dad used tew go areound with old carts a 
sellin' fish and a buyin' up soap-fat and sich things? 
It was a nasty kind of a business, I know, and I don't 
wonder that yeou turn up yeour nose when I talk abeout 
it. But yeou folks cum to the city, and yeou've been a 
gittin' up purty fast. How's Uncle Bob? I declare, 



134 ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS 

I hain't seen him fur upward of fifteen years. I reckon 
hell be home to supper purty soon — won't he? 

Mary. He will probably be home in an hour. 

Joshua, Uncle Bob allers was a tip-top man, and 
I'm mighty glad he's made a raise. This is a mighty 
nice house of his'n. Does he own it, or has he only got 
it rented? 

Mary, He owns the house. 

Joshua, And sich stylish carpet ! Reckon that car- 
pet would cost abeout two dollars a yard. 

Mary {laughing). Yes, I suppose it would. 

Joshua, And sich awful purty pictures as yeou've 
got hangin' reound on the walls. Who's that soger 
feller there ? {Pointing to 'picture,) 

Mary, That is the Duke of Wellington. 

Joshua, Duke of What — ington ? 

Mary, Wellington. 

Joshua, Oh, yas; I used to hear Uncle Si talkin' 
abeout him. He's a mighty savage lookin' feller, any- 
heow. 

Arabella {to Mary), Mary, you seem to be delighted 
with your company. 

Joshua, Yas, I shouldn't wonder if she was, fur I'm 
considered a purty entertainin' sort of a feller deown 
tew Turkey Run. The way the gals sets eout arter me 
is really surprisin*. There's Jemima Cummins and 
Tabitha Wingerly, they've both been a shinin' reound 
me purty lively. I s'pose Jemima's the smartest gal 
and understands housekeepin' best, but then Tabitha 
she's got a heap of money, and a f eller'd do mighty well 
tew git Tabitha. Jemima beats all tew make corn 
cakes and punkin pies. Sam Jenkins says as how Je- 
mima's punkin pies outstrips anything he ever tasted, 
and yeou know Sam has traveled consid'able and has 
seen a heap of the world. But I reckon I'd do better to 
go arter Tabitha Wingerly, fur she's got heaps of 
money, and money is a wonderful thing these days. It 
raises people so much in the world that they don't even 
know their blood relations when they come to see them. 



ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS 135 

Arabella. Mary^ when your friend has got through 
telling about the Turkey Runners — 

Joshua, Turkey Runners! (Laughs,) Ho! ho! 
That's good ! Ho ! ho ! Why^ I never heard the folks 
deown our way called that afore. Turkey Runners ! 
Ho! Ho! That's good! I'll say that when I git hum, 
and the folks '11 think I've I'arned sumthin' by comin' to 
the city. 

Arabella. I suppose I should feel very happy be- 
cause I have said something to amuse you. I was just 
going to remark^ Mary, that when your friend got 
through with his story, you could show him the door. 

Joshua, Show me the door ! Land o' Goshen ! 
What's wrong with the door? {Goes to door and exam- 
ines it,) Wall, neow, I don't see nothin* pecooliar 
abeout that door. It's got hinges, and a knob, and it 
swings back'ard and for'ards jist like any door. 
What's wrong abeout it, anyheow.^ 

Arabella (aside). Oh, what a stupid blockhead. 
His verdancy is unequaled. And Mr. Clarendon will be 
here in a short time. How shall I get rid of this in- 
truder ? 

Joshua (to Arabella), How's your marm.^ Ain't 
she goin' tew come in tew see me.^ Why, when I go 
tew Uncle Jacob's, deown to Plunkettville, they all come 
whoopin' into the room, and make a powerful fuss over 
me. 

Arabella. I didn't know but you had seen mother. 

Joshua, No, I jest come in a few minutes ago. I 
don't see no use in knockin' when you go to see your 
relations, and so I j est marched in. I hearn tell from a 
feller that this was your house, and that Mary was a 
livin' with yeou, and so I thought I'd jest bolt in and 
sorter startle yeou. 

Arabella, Well, I expect company soon, and I will 
be glad if you will retire. 

Joshua, Retire! That means go to bed. I de- 
clare, Arabella, I don't feel sleepy. 

Arabella (aside). Oh, what a dunce! (To 



136 ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS 

Joshua.) Well^ I shall leave you. I am not used to 
such company. {Exit Arabella, L.) 

Joshua. Land of Pequonnock! She's a high-flyer! 
Sorter stuck up, ain't she.^ 

Mary. Yes, Cousin Joshua, I am sorry to say it, 
but I think she isn't as agreeable as she might be. 

Joshua. I s'pose now she thinks I ain't quite as 
good as she is. I wonder if she does ? 

Mary. I suppose she doesn't feel like claiming you 
as her cousin. 

Joshua. Wall, I'm her cousin, anyheow. I feel rail 
sorry abeout it, tew, fur I'd rather not have any rela- 
tions of that kind. I hain't got very stylish clothes 
on, that's a fact, but she oughln't tew git cranky on 
that account. Clothes don't make the man. But when 
it comes tew money, I reckon I've got abeout as much 
as her dad's got — I have so. But yeou needn't tell 
anybody. You've been havin' a hard time of 
it, Mary. I heard Arabeller a pitchin' into yeou, 
and yeou pitchin' into Arabeller. I stood at the 
door up'ards of a few minutes when yeou was a 
talkin', jest tew find eout what sort of gals my city 
cousins were. In course when I heard the talk I was 
sorter expectin' the reception that Arabeller give me. 
She's a rail snappin' alligator, and holds her head a 
mighty sight too high. And so yeou mean tew leave? 

Mary. Yes, I cannot stay here. A life of servitude 
is preferable to a life of dependence. 

Joshua. And what are yeou goin' tew do? 

Mary. I will get a situation as governess if I can, 
and if I fail in that I will work in somebody's kitchen. 

Joshua. Wall, neow, yeou shan't work in anybody's 
kitchen — that's so ! Nor yeou shan't be a gloverness 
neither, but I don't quite know what that is. I'll tell 
yeou, Mary, you've got tew cum home with me. I've 
made a spec', and I've got a heap of money. Your 
marm was mighty good tew me when I was a little fel- 
ler, and I hain't forgot abeout it. What do yeou say? 

Mary. Yes, Cousin Joshua, I shall be glad to do so. 



ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS 137 

But come^ we will go and see Aunt. Arabella is ex- 
pecting a gentleman friend^ and I know she would pre- 
fer that he should not see me. 

Joshua. Yas^ that's what she was pitchin' into yeou 
abeout when I come in. Wall^ we'll step eout and leave 
the coast clear^ but arter awhile^ when they git tew 
sayin' lovin' things^ I'll step in ag'in^ jest to show 
Arabeller's feller what a stylish cousin she's got. 

Mary, Oh^ no^ Joshua! I wouldn't do that. 

Joshua, Yeou wouldn't! Wall^ / would. I'm sot 
on it^ and when a Hopkins gits sot onto anything^ thar 
ain't any use a talkin' tew him. But we will go and 
look arter Aunt Patty. {Exit Mary and Joshua, L.) 

Enter Robert Clarendon, R, 

Robert, No one here ! I thought I heard persons 
conversing. Well^ I'll sit down and make myself com- 
fortable^ and I doubt not I will see Arabella soon. I 
have almost concluded that this shall be my last visit 
to Arabella ; and^ indeed^ I have only been coming lately 
because I felt interested in her cousin Mary. How very 
different they are ! I am surprised that I ever had 
even a passing fancy for Arabella. She is beautiful^ 
but how proud and imperious ! Mary is agreeable and 
gentle in her manners. I wonder why I do not see her 
more. She seems to avoid me. Ah ! here is Arabella 
now. (Rises,) 

Enter Arabella, L. 

Arabella, Good evenings Mr. Clarendon. Pray be 
seated. I just stepped out a moment ago to speak to 
my mother. This is a delightful afternoon. 

Robert, Yes^ very. But I am hurried to-day, and 
can only make a short call. If it be agreeable I will 
do myself the honor of taking you and Mary to the lec- 
ture to-morrow evening. 

Arabella, And Mary! Why, Mr. Clarendon, do 
you know what you are saying? 

Robert, Certainly, I do. 

Arabella. Mary is one of our poor relations, and — 



138 ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS 

Enter Joshua, L. 

Joshua, And I'm one of Arabella's poor relations 
tew ! She's e'en a most overwhelmed with poor rela- 
tions. Arabeller^ why don't yeou give me an introduc- 
tion tew this feller? 

Arabella (aside). Oh, this is dreadful! I thought 
I had made arrangements to have him kept away. 

Joshua, Wall, if my Cousin Arabeller won't intro- 
duce us we kin shake hands and be friends anyheow — 
can't we? (Joshua offers his hand, and Robert takes 
it and gives him a friendly shake.) 

Robert, Certainly, sir. I'm glad to see you, al- 
though I don't know you. 

Joshua, Wall, I'm Josh Hopkins, from Turkey Run. 
I've jest come tew town tew see my rich relations. 
Now what's your name? 

Robert. Robert Clarendon, at your service. 

Joshua, Yas, and I guess you're a courtin' Arabella 
here. She's a purty fine gal; still, accordin' to my 
views, she ain't nowhere compared to Cousin Mary. 

Arabella, Mr. Clarendon, do not converse with this 
man. He came in here a few minutes ago and pre- 
tended to be a relative. He is an impostor, and if 
father was here he would put him out. 

Joshua, Put me eout! Wall, that's good. Why, 
Uncle Bob wouldn't do that fur sixty-two and a half 
cents. 

Arabella, Did you not express a wish to see my 
mother ? 

Joshua, Yas, but I changed my mind. Mary and^ I 
was a startin' tew go, but I tuck a notion I'd cum back 
and take a look at the feller as is to be my cousin. 
Mary didn't want me to come, and she talked ag'in it 
like all possessed, but I was sot on comin' in, and I did 
come. Yeou know the Hopkinses was an awful sot 
people when they tuck a notion. 

Arabella, I can't endure this. I will send for 
father. 



ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS 139 

Joshua, Wall^ that's jest what I want yeou to do. 
Yeou see^ Mr. Clarendon, since I've cum into this house 
I haven't been gittin' along very fluently, as the feller 
says. Neow, if Uncle Bob would come I think he'd 
regilate matters. Yeou see dad and Uncle Bob used 
tew be in the same business. They each had a one- 
hoss cart and they drove areound and sold fish^ and then 
they bought up soap-fat and sheep's hides and sich 
things — 

Arabella. I will not endure this. {Exit Arabella, in 
a passion, L.) 

Joshua, Land o' Goshen! That made her flounce 
eout in a hurry ! See here, Mr. Clarendon, I sorter like 
your looks. Neow I don't want to meddle too much 
in your courtin' affairs, but it seems to me that if yeou 
marry that gal yeou'U git into trouble. She's a 
screamer and no mistake. She's as much like a gal 
deown to Turkey Run as anything I ever seed. This gal 
I'm tellin' on, she's a darter of Deacon Tucker's, and 
she wants tew be considered boss of everything in gin- 
eral. I reckon yeou think I don't know much, but I've 
been areound a little, and I ginerally take notes as I go. 
I come here to-day to look after my relations. Haven't 
seen them fur up'ards of fifteen years, 'cause we've 
sorter been in the background. But I made a raise — 
I'm tellin' yeou this in a secret — and I guess I've got 
about as much money as Arabeller or Uncle Bob. 
She doesn't know this, or I calkerlate she wouldn't turn 
up her nose so high when she speaks to me. But, as I 
was sayin', I come here to-day to see what sort of re- 
lations I had. I stood awhile at the door there afore I 
stepped in, and Arabeller was a jawin^* fearful, be- 
cause Mary had seen sent into the room to git somethin' 
or nuther when yeou and Arabeller was a sparkin*. 
Then Mary she up and told Arabeller that she warn't a 
goin' to have her talkin' so much abeout poor relations, 
and she said she'd git up and leave. I have tuck the 
matter into my hands, and I'm a goin' to take her hum 
with me. She ain't a goin' to live with no wild-cat like 



140 ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS 

Arabeller Taylor. No^ sir_, hot as long as my name's 
Josh Hopkins. Yeou see^ Mr. Clarendon^ I'm tellin' 
yeou all abeout it. I've tuck a likin' fur you^ and I 
don't want yeou to git into trouble. 

Robert, I thank you for what you have said. I 
have not yet gone so far but that I can honorably re- 
treat. I was beginning to see Arabella in her true 
light, and had already decided to cultivate Mary's ac- 
quaintance, as I believe her to be gentle and good. 

Joshua, Land sakes ! And so yeou're goin' to quit 
one and split eout arter the other. Wall, I s'pose I'll 
have yeou fur a cousin anyheow, and I'll be rail glad, 
too, fur yeou've got a straight up and deown look abeout 
yeou. 

Robert. 1 thank you for your good opinion. 

Joshua, Yeou do.^ Wall, that's jest what I think. 
But lookee here, Mr. Clarendon, ef yeou are goin' to 
court Mary, I calkerlate yeou'll have to be in a hurry 
abeout it. I live away deown in Varmount, and Mary's 
goin' hum with me to-morrer if yeou don't put a stop 
to it. Howsomever, yeou can court her by writin' if 
yeou don't feel inclined to be in a hurry. There's a 
feller deown to Turkey Run as did all his courtin' by 
letter-writin' ; but, ginerally speakin', I'm opposed to 
sich work. Jest wait here a minute, Mr. Clarendon, 
and I'll fix matters fur yeou. Yeou see I'm in my 
Uncle Bob's house, and I make myself to hum. (Ea:it 
Joshua, L,) 

Robert. That's a diamond in the rough — one of 
nature's noblemen, lacking the polish. I wonder what 
he is going to do now. There seems to be but little 
cousinly love between him and Arabella. 

Reenter Joshua, L. 

Joshua. Jest step eout intew the garden, Mr. Clar- 
endon. I sent Mary there, and yeou'd better go and 
say good-by to her. I'm goin' to take her away to-mor- 
row, if nothin' turns up. I'll stay here, and if Arabella 
comes I'll court her in your place. 

Robert. Thanks, my friend. I will do as you say. 



ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS 141 

You may expect me again in a short time. (Exit Rob- 
ert, R.) 

Joshua. Yas^ in a short time. (Laughs,) He! he! 
I understand jest how time flies in a ease of that kind. 
If they don't make their good-byes a half an hour long 
it will be a strange sarcumstance. And I'm goin' to 
have a heavy job if I court Arabeller all that time. 
She'll come a bouncin' in here in a minute or two^ and 
jest as likely as not she'll take hold of me and pitch 
me eout of the winder. (Sits down and whistles Yankee 
Doodle.) Neow I s'pose it ain't quite right to whistle 
in sich a grand house^ but then it allers did rest me to 
git a good whistle. (Whistles again.) Hokey! she's 
a comin' ! 

Enter Arabella, L. 

Arabella. You here! 

Joshua. Yes^ siree ! 

Arabella, Where's Mr. Clarendon.^ 

Joshua. Wall^ I can't say jest exactly. I s'pose he 
got mad and went eout to take a smoke^ but wouldn't 
be positive abeout it. Reckon it warn't perlite fur 
yeou to run eout of the room when he was here, was it.^ 

Arabella. How could I stay when such a disagree- 
able baboon as you were here.^ 

Joshua. Disagreeable baboon! Land of Pequon- 
nock! Ain't I a ketchin' it.^ Arabeller, what on airth 
makes yeou abuse your poor relations so ? 

Arabella. Why did you come here.^ 

Joshua. Come to see heow yeou was all a gittin' 
along. How's all the folks, anyheow ? 

Arabella. You might have known we did not want 
to see any greenhorns. 

Joshua. Sho! I declare I thought you'd all make 
a fuss over me jest like they dew at Uncle Jacob's 
deown to Plunkettville. 

Arabella. You ought to be in a lunatic asylum. 

Joshua. Yas, that's a fact, and I s'pose I'd a been 
there long ago if I'd had any money to pay my 
boardin'. And, Cousin Arabeller, yeou ought to be in 



142 ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS 

a menagerie. They ought to have you in a cage, and a 
sign with these words in big letters : This is a tiger — 
worst hind — keep out of the way, 

Arabella, How very amusing you are ! 

Joshua, Yas, we're both makin' some right-deown 
funny remarks. S'posin' we change the subject. Let 
us be agreeable and court some. Mr. Clarendon has 
just stepped eout. S'posin' I take his place .^ 

Arabella, You booby, don't talk to me. 

Joshua, Neow, what's the use of fightin'.^ We are 
cousins, and both our dads used to peddle soap-fat. 

Arabella. Stop your talk or leave the house. 

Joshua, I can't go till I see Uncle Bob. But it's a 
fact, Arabeller, yeour folks have been going up in the 
world, and I've been goin' up too. I reckon I'm worth 
fifty thousand dollars. 

Arabella, How ridiculous for you to talk so! If 
you are worth fifty thousand dollars, why don't you 
throw off your greenhorn clothes, and get a respectable 
suit } 

Joshua. Clothes don't make the man — not by a 
long chalk. But I'll tell yeou heow it is, Arabeller, 
I've got a mighty good suit and an awful slick hat 
deown to the hotel. 

Arabella, Then why did you come here in this coun- 
trified dress? If you had no respect for yourself you 
should have had some for us. You have driven Mr. 
Clarendon away with your outlandish dress and your 
outrageous conduct. 

Joshua {laughs). Ho! ho! Yas, I guess I did 
drive him eout to the garden. Reckon they're gittin' 
along swimmingly. 

Arabella, They! Who? 

Joshua. Mr. Clarendon and Mary. Here they 
come. 

Enter Robert and Mary, R, 

Wall, heow'd yeou git along? If I should judge 
by your countenances I should say tip-top. 



ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS 143 

Robert, You are right, my friend. 

Joshua. And how abeout Mary? Is she goin' 
deown to Turkey Run along with me? 

Robert. No, sir. 

Joshua (laughs). Ha! ha! Ho! ho! He! he! 
Hurrah for snakes ! Jericho forever. Ho ! ho ! I 
knowed heow it would turn out. Wall, puss (chucking 
Mary under the chin), got nothin' to say? Ho! ho! 
Ought to thank me fur helpin' the matter along. 

Arabella. What means this? 

Robert. It simply means that Mary has promised 
to be my wife. 

Arabella. Mary! The hateful minx! (To Robert.) 
And you ! Do you call yourself a gentleman ? 

Joshua (laughs). Ha! ho! Neow yeou are a 
ketchin' it. No, he ain't a gentleman — in course not 

— nothin' but a greenhorn and a poor relation, jest 
like me. 

Mary. Cousin Arabella — 

Arabella. Stop! Don't say a word. I don't want 
to hear you. (To Joshua.) I suppose this is all your 
work_, you booby! 

Joshua. Neow I am a ketchin' it. But I feel jolly 

— yes_, tip-top. I reckon I did have somethin' to do 
with this match. Us poor relations are a mighty 
bother. 

Arabella. Don't say another word. Leave the 
house^ all of you. (Ea:it Arabella, in a passion, L.) 

Joshua. Wall, she flops eout like as if she was a 
goin' to leave the house herself. But I say. Cousin 
Mary, yeou think yeou'll not go deown to Turkey Run ? 

Mary. No, Cousin Joshua, I have concluded to stay 
here. 

Joshua (laughs). Ho! ho! It's all right, and we 
are all happy (turning to audience), provided our 
friends will look with favor upon Arabella's Poor Re- 
lations. 

Curtain. 

H. E. McBride. 



144 FIX 



FIX 



MoNs. BoNJEAN^ A French Gentleman, 
Mr. Jones, His Friend. 

Mons, Bon jean and Mr, Jones discovered conversing. 



Mr, Jones, So you think our language very diffi- 
cult, Mons. Bonjean? 

Mons, Bonjean, Difficult ! Ah, sare, it is difficile 
beyond expression. Now, as you are so very com- 
plaisant, will you explain for me ze meaning of von 
little word I hears every day, and nevare two times ze 



same 



? 



Mr, Jones. Certainly I will. Pray, what is it? 

Mons. Bonjean. Fix! 

Mr. Jones, Fix ! Oh, that is a very simple word. 

Mons. Bonjean, Vill you have ze goodness to tell 
me, zen, ze veritable meaning of him, s'il vous plait, 

Mr. Jones. Well, it is a word that has various mean- 
ings, according to its application. 

Mons. Bonjean. I comes here from Paris, chere 
Paris, I brings von lettaire vich introduce me to Mons. 
Jonson. Ver good man. He comes to my hotel, he 
say to me, " You vill come viz me for leetle visit to my 
house." So he take me to his cabriolet, my trunk all 
bring down, and he say to ze valet, ** Put ze trunk of 
Mons. Bonjean on ze carriage." Ze man say, *' Yes, 
sare, I fia: him ! " So he put him on the cabriolet an 
tie him viz a strong cord very hard. {Takes out a 
note-book.) So I puts him down. **Fix, to tie him 
very hard.'' 

Mr. Jones. Quite correct. 

Mons. Bonjean. Ah, you zinks so! We goes to ze 
house of Mons. Jonson, a grande house in wide street. 
Two, tree sarevents come. Mons. Jonson say, *'Take 
ze trunk to ze apartment of Mons. Bonjean." Ze sare- 



FIX 145 

vent say^ " Yes, sare, I -fix him/' So I say, " Ah ha ! 
here is nozare meaning,*' so I puts him down again, 
** Fix, to take ze trunk to apaHment/' 

Mr. Jones (smiling). Well, did you hear the word 
again ? 

Mons, Bon jean. Ma foi! I hears him evare! I 
go to my rooms, and zey are very fine, magnifique. 
Mons. Jonson say, ** I hope ze girl have fixed your 
rooms to please you." I puts him down again, *' Fix, 
to arrange ze room.'' 

Mr. Jones. It is a word frequently used in that 
sense. 

Mons. Bon jean. Ah, I make ze toilet and go to ze 
salon. I meet ze fille de chambre on ze stair, and she 
say, '' Is Madame Jonson in ze salon ? " and anozare 
one reply, " No, the coiffeur is fixing her hair.'' So I 
say to myself, " Ma foi, now I see one grande dame viz 
ze hair fixed.'' Ven I see Madame, ze hair is in ze 
curls, beautiful! incroyahle! So I writes him down, 
'* Fix, to curl ze hair." 

Mr. Jones, Ladies always say they fix their hair, no 
matter how it is dressed. 

Mons. Bonjean. Ah, ha! Ven ve goes in to ze din- 
ner, many gentleman and lady there. One of ze mes- 
sieurs vish to take ze vine viz Madame Jonson, and ze 
sarevent cannot get ze stoppare out of ze decantare. 
Mons. Jonson say, *' Bring him here, John, I fix him," 
So he strike it gently viz ze handle of ze knife, and 
ze stoppare come out. So I writes him again, " Fix, 
to take ze stoppare out of ze decantare." 

Mr. Jones. You were certainly puzzled. 

Mons. Bonjean. Parbleu ! Puzzle ! When ze des- 
sert have come, ze sarevents open ze champagne, and 
ze cork he fly out, bang ! Mons. Jonson's lettle boy he 
say, ** Ze fixed air in ze vine." 

Mr. Jones. That was correct. 

Mons. Bonjean. Ma foi. I puts him down, *' Fix, 
to go off, pop." In ze evening comes grande company, 
many ladies, many gentlemen. I have long talk viz 



146 FIX 

one lady of fine taste^ viz ze toilette superbe. She like 
ze modes Parisiennes, ze lace Parisiennes^ ze robe de 
soir Parisiennes^ ze bijouterie Parisiennes^ ze shoe^ ze 
glove^ ze carpet^ ze furniture^ all Parisiennes. Ven ve 
valk some time ze bracelet of diamond upon her arm 
come unclasp^ and catch in ze sleeve of lace. So she 
say^ ** Mons. Bonjean^ will you fia; ze bracelet for me? " 
Ma foi. I know not if I am to tie him hard, to carry 
him up stairs, to curl him like ze hair, or to make him 
go pop. But I disengage him from ze sleeve and clasp 
him, and zen she say, ** Thank you, you fia; him nicely." 
So I writes him down, ** Fix, to clasp ze bracelet on 
lady's arm," 

Mr, Jones, That is all right. 

Mons, Bon jean. Yes, but, I have some friends at 
the hotel one day, and I say to the sarevent, "Is the 
suppare served } " Then he tell me, " Yes, sare, every- 
thing is fixed,'' So I write him down, " Fix, to serve 
ze suppare," 

Mr, Jones, Yes, you see the general meaning is to 
arrange, to put in order. 

Mons, Bon jean. But I walks down ze street viz a 
friend, and he stopped to see a lawyer. Ven zey have 
talked leetle vile, zey come out, and ze lawyer say, 
*' I'll fix him ! Til f,x him." So I ask my friend, 
" How vill he fix him? " and he say, " I have a dis- 
honest customer and he vill not pay me, so I give my 
lawyer ze ordare to sue him. He'll fix him." 

Mr, Jones, He meant he would make him pay the 
debt. 

Mons, Bonjean {writing in note-booh^, *' Fix, to 
mahe customer pay ze debt" But my friend goes to 
his office, large office ! many clerk ! One of ze clerk 
bring ze paper to my friend and say, " Here is Mr. 
Bunkum's bill. Wants ze money at once if con- 
venient," and my friend say, ** All right, I fix him." 
So he writes a checque and gives him to ze clerk, and 
say, " Zare, zat is fixed," 



FIX 147 

Mr, Jones. He meant that the bill was settled — 
paid. 

Mons, Bon jean. Oh! Strange word^ zat fix. He 
mean make rogue pay debt^ and he mean to pay your 
own debt. 

Mr, Jones {laughing). Each time you hear it ex- 
plained it seems to increase your perplexities. 

Mons, Bon jean. Zen I go to take ze ride viz anozare 
friend to see ze city^ ze parks^ ze environs ! Ve go in 
vat he call York vagon. Very high^ very light ! beau- 
tiful horses. Just before us we see anozare light wagon 
zat go very fast_, strike a post, break ze wagon, horse 
run away, leave him. Gentlemen fly up in ze air, 
come down hard on ze ground. I zink him killed, but 
he sit up and rub his head viz his hand. So my friend 
he say, " Hulloo, vat is ze trouble.^ '' and ze gentleman 
say very dolefully, ** I'm in a fix.'^ 

Mr. Jones, 1 should think he was ! 

Mons, Bon jean, Nevare I hear such drole word. 
Ven all things knock to pieces, gentleman hurt, horse 
gone, he is in a fix. Is zat vat you call to put in order, 
to arrange.^ 

Mr, Jones, No, but the word is often used so, to ex- 
press a difficulty. 

Mons, Bon jean. I say to my friend, " Vill ve stop 
to assist him? " and he say, ** Oh, no, zare is one livery 
stable round ze cornare, where he have everything 
fixed toute suite,'' Vat he mean zen? 

Mr, Jones, That the man at the stable would repair 
the damage. 

Mons, Bonjean. So we drove away, and leave ze 
gentleman in a fix to get fixed. Ha, vat a drole word. 
Ven ve get to ze park ve see some men viz ze large 
stones at work, and my friend he say, *' Zey are fixing 
the fountain.'' Vat he mean by zat? 

Mr. Jones. He meant they were repairing it. 

Mons, Bonjean, Zen I go to ze grande parade of ze 
militaire, and ze officaire he cry out to ze soldiers, '' Fix 



148 FIX 

bayonets ! " Oh^ I think zey will all tumble into little 
pieces^ and be put togezare again! 

Mr. Jones, You saw it was only a military 
manoeuvre ? 

Mons. Bon jean. But we come back^ and I go to my 
friend's house to suppare^ and he say to me^ " Vill you 
go to a room^ and fia: for suppare ? " Ma f oi ! I have 
no desire to fix. 

Mr. Jones. He meant to shake off the dust of your 
drive^ and smooth your hair. 

Mons. Bon jean. We have for suppare a fine salade, 
and my friend say to me^ '* Try zat salade ; my wife she 
fijc him^ and she make very fine salade." 

Mr. Jones. We often say dishes are fixed when they 
are cooked or prepared. 

Mons. Bon jean. Ah ! I shall nevare understand him. 
Is your son at home, Mons. Jones ? 

Mr. Jones. No, he has gone to Cincinnati. You 
know he has fixed upon his uncle's business. 

Mons. Bon jean. Ah! Vat is zat business? 

Mr. Jones. Wholesale dry goods. I am very glad 
to have Alfred settled. He will probably succeed to 
the business, as my brother means to retire, and leave 
Alfred the good- will and fixtures. 

Mons. Bon jean. Do you still think you will visit 
Europe this year.^ 

Mr. Jones. I have not quite decided. I am in a fix 
about my cashier, who has been taken ill very suddenly, 
and I find it difficult to get things fixed without him. 
Mrs. Jones will go, I think. 

Mons. Bon jean (laughing). Ah! she does not have 
to fix. 

Mr. Jones. Oh, don't she? She is always fixing 
something. Her traveling dress, her hat, her entire 
wardrobe wants fixing, and she told me yesterday she 
was nearly crazed trying to i[ix upon what to leave, 
what to wear, and what to take. 

Mons. Bon jean. Zen she is in a fix, too. Quel 
drole mot! 



THE FOURTH OF JULY ORATION 149 

Mr. Jones. Did you visit the Academy of Music, 
as you proposed, last evening? 

Mons. Bon jean. I did. It is a fine building. 

Mr. Jones. Yes. It was all fixed up during the 
summer vacation. 

Mons. Bon jean {pathetically). Fix! fix! fix! Vill 
you tell me ze French for fix? 

Mr. Jones. Well, you Ve got me in a fix, now ! 

Mons. Bon jean. In zis country everything is fix. 
Everywhere, everybody, everything. It means all 
things ! It means all doings. It is universale. Toute 
espece de chose are fix. Tell me, my friend, if I die 
in zis America shall I zen be fixed? 

Mn Jones {very emphatically) , I think you will! 

S. A. Frost. 



THE FOURTH OF JULY ORATION 



Claude. Max. 

Julius. Roland. 

Frank. 

Frank discovered writing. 



Claude. What are you doing, Frank .^ 

{Frank takes no notice.) 

Julius {loudly). Frank! 

Max {still louder). Frank! {Frank still writes.) 

Roland {clapping Frank on the hack). Frank, are 
you deaf, or dead.^ 

Frank {looking up). What is the matter.^ Can't 
you let a fellow have a little peace .^ 

Julius. What are you writing — a novel ? 

Frank. I'll tell you; I'm writing an oration for 
the Fourth of July. 

Julius.^ What is the occasion? 

Frank. A sort of picnic to Hunter's Point. You 



150 THE FOURTH OF JULY ORATION 



will all be invited. There's to be all sorts of fun — 
swings^ luncheon^ dancings and I am requested to de- 
liver the oration. 

Julius, Is it written.'* 

Frank. Partly. 

Max. Spread eagle^ glorious land of independence, 
free-born citizens^ and all the rest of it^ I suppose, 
Frank ? 

There ! I knew you would 



Frank {rather stiffly^ 
make fun of me. 

Maoc, Not a bit of it ! 
written. 

Frank. Well, I will, 
citizens. 

Julius. 
some life 



I say, read us what you have 
{Takes up papers.^ Fellow 



Oh pshaw! Milk and water. Say it with 
{Dramatically .) Fellow citizens ! 

Frank {imitating). Fellow citizens ! 

Roland. That's more like it. 

Frank. I rise before you — 

Max. Poh! Rise, why don't you? Who ever 
heard of a man sitting down to deliver an oration.'* 

Frank {standing up). I rise before you on this 
glorious day — 

Claude {drawling). I rise before you on this glo- 
rious day. I want more sugar in my coffee. You 
would throw as much life into one speech as you did in 
the other. {Very dramatically.) I re-ise before you 
on this ge-lorious day ! 

Frank {imitating). I re-ise before you on this ge- 
lorious day. 

Max. That's better, in case it don't rain. If it 
does, you had better substitute damp for glorious. 

Frank. You shut up ! Where was I ? 

Max. Rising on a glorious day, like patent yeast. 

Frank. To say a few words upon the subject of our 
great national anniversary — an anniversary whose re~ 
currence sends a thrill of patriotic fire through the 
heart of every free-born American citizen. 

Max. Hear! Hear! 



I 



THE FOURTH OF JULY ORATION 151 

Claude, Patriotic fire is good ! 

Julius. H'm — yes — I Ve heard it before. 

Roland. Pshaw! Of course you have. Go ahead, 
Frank. That's first-rate. 

Frank, Where was I } 

Max, Blazing with patriotic fire. 

Julius. Blaze away. 

Frank. When we recall to mind the great and in- 
spiring event that will cause this day to be ever an an- 
niversary — 

Max. Hold up ! There's two anniversaries ! 

Julius. Don't run into tautology. 

Frank. But — 

Roland. Make one of them Mary-versary, and go 
ahead. 

Frank. You've thrown me all out! 

Claude. Get in again. 

Frank. The history of our country commemorates 
no prouder day than the Fourth of July — the day 
when tyranny was thrown aside forever_, and the Amer- 
ican Eagle soared unshackled to the sky. 

Claude. Oh, fan me! 

Julius. There's spread eagle for you ! 

Roland. With a vengeance ! 

Max. Shut up, you fellows. Go ahead, Frank. 

Frank {very dramiatically) . Never have the pinions 
of the emblematic bird been fettered since the great 
day when our forefathers (getting on a chair) with a 
mighty effort defied the oppressive rule of the proud 
Britains, and rose (gets on the table) in mighty power, 
to assert their rights as men! 

Max. Shall I assist you to stand on the mantel- 
piece } 

Frank (not heeding him). From the snowy fields 
of ice-bound Maine to the sunny slopes of Louisiana, 
from the billows of the broad Atlantic to the waves of 
the great Pacific, the patriotic citizens of this glorious 
land of freedom are uniting in the celebration of this 
anniversary. 



152 THE FOURTH OF JULY ORATION 

Max» Another anniversary ! 

Frank {throwing the manuscript at his head). Write 
it yourself^ then. {Leaps down from table,) 

Claude. Oh^ come^ don't get mad. Read us the 
rest of it. 

Frank {sulkily). Read it yourself. 

Claude {taking manuscript and getting on the table). 
Let's see — h'm — h'm! anniversary. Oh^ here is the 
place. {Reads with great gesticulation.) Never 
since the hour when the British lion was driven, an en- 
raged and conquered power, from our shores, never has 
the free American citizen bowed his head or bent his 
knees in homage to royalty. We who are here to-day 
inherit the proud and animal- — 

Frank {scornfully). Animal! Inalienable! 

Claude. Is it.'* {Getting down.) I don't believe 
in writing speeches. Trust to inspiration. 

Frank. Suppose you never had an inspiration? 

Max. The subject will inspire you. Fourth of 
July ! Why, Fourth of July would inspire anybody. I 
could make an impromptu oration three hours long. 

Frank {sarcastically). Oh, could you.^ 

Roland, Anybody could. 

Julius. Of course anybody could. 

Frank. Suppose you try it. 

Max {standing up, and speaking very dramatically, 
and with much gesticulation). Ladies and gentlemen. 

Frank. Oh, bosh! Who ever heard a Fourth of 
July oration commence with ladies and gentlemen. 

Max {as before). Fellow citizens! I — I — 
{commencing again.) Fellow citizens ! As I look 
around me upon this melancholy — 

Frank. Oh! Oh! 

Claude. He's been hearing somebody's funeral ora- 
tion. 

Roland. Take out your handkerchiefs, boys! 

Max. Ahem! Not melancholy, that was a slip of 
the tongue. {Dramatically,) Fellow citizens ! 

Frank. You said that before. 



THE FOURTH OF JULY ORATION 153 

Max, I rise upon this joyful day to — to — {com- 
mencing again,) When I see before me the faces of 
the — the — (commencing again.) Fellow citizens! 

Frank, How are you^ inspiration ! 

Max (sitting down), Oh_, a fellow can't get in- 
spired in a stuffy room^ with four other fellows laugh- 
ing at him. 

Claude, You must trust more to imagination. Im- 
agine the flags waving^ cannons firings band playing^ 
and a listening audience hanging enraptured upon your 
words. (Dramatically). Fellow citizens! When I 
gaze upon the stars and stripes waving in glorious pro- 
fusion — 

Max, Stuff! That's the way novelists describe the 
heroine's hair. It always waves in glorious profusion. 

Claude, Nobody could make a speech with such con- 
stant interruption. 

Max, Go ahead. I won't interrupt you again. 

Claude (dramatically) , When I see around me this 
vast assemblage collected to do honor to the great and 
glorious anniversary of our national independence^ I 
feel — feel — national independence I — I — 

Frank. How are you^ imagination ! 

Julius, You are neither of you patriotic enough. 
Patriotism ! Patriotism ! That's the feeling that 
must fill your hearts. With a heart overflowing with 
patriotism, words of burning eloquence rise spontane- 
ously to the lips. 

Claude (dryly). Oh, do they.^ (Sitting doivn,) 
Give us a specimen. 

Julius (rising). Fellow patriots and free-born cit- 
izens of this land of Liberty I My heart swells with 
proud emotions when I recall the great occasion which 
first led (speaking very rapidly, without any punctua- 
tion) to the celebration of this anniversary of our na- 
tion's independence when the infant nation arose in her 
might to crush out the oppressions of a parent power 
whose exactions drained from the veins of her children 
the life-blood of freedom the bone and sinew of her 



154 THE FOURTH OF JULY ORATION 

men the fruits of her labor the rights of her citizens 
the privileges of her colonists unheeding the groans 
of an oppressed and taxed nation unheeding lawful 
prayers for redress unheeding the claims of justice 
the struggles of freedom the — 

Frank, Stop ! Stop ! Gracious ! Stop him, you 
fellows, or he'll burst a blood-vessel! 

Claude, Steam engines and locomotives ! 

Roland. Who ever heard an orator gallop through 
his speech in that style? And who wants to hear all 
that matter-of-fact stuff, anyhow? Everybody knows 
all about the Fourth of July. What you want in such 
a speech as that, is not a matter-of-fact stringing to- 
gether of historical facts; but symbols, flowers of 
rhetoric, and figures of speech. 

Julius {sitting down). Pitch in! 

Roland {rising). Fellow citizens! {Very slowly 
and with marked emphasis,) Soaring above us in the 
zenith, the bird of Freedom tosses from his unfettered 
wings the dewdrops of Hope upon this memorable day ! 
From the hour when he lay crushed, wounded, and 
bleeding, under the outstretched talons of the lion of 
oppression, to the great day when, with outspread 
wings, he overshadowed the conquered brute, the sun of 
Liberty has never set upon the folds of our starry flag! 

Frank {clapping his hands). Hear! hear! 

Claude, Whew ! 

Mao:. Where did you steal that? 

Roland {grandly) , I do not depend upon others for 
my ideas, sir ! 

Frank, Give us some more. 

Roland, When the gushing floods of Freedom's sun- 
light were, for a time, obscured by the clouds of 
treason, and the proud bird of — 

Max, See here, old fellow, no personalities, if you 
please. {Dramatically,) Remember the hot blood of 
Louisiana courses through my veins ! 

Claude, And Virginia's through mine ! 

Roland, I stand corrected. I will sink in oblivion 



THE FOURTH OF JULY ORATION 155 

the late differences of opiaion^ though I claim Massa- 
chusetts for my native State. 

Julius. I think if Frank could collect all the frag- 
ments of oratory he has heard^ he might work up a 
first-rate speech. 

Frank {stiffly). Thank you. I don't write my 
speeches as my grandmother makes quilts — out of 
patches. {Takes his manuscript). 

Julius, Oh^ you needn't get riled! The great 
bother I should have would be in winding up. 

Frank, So I should judge from the way you run on. 

Julius, Stopping gracefully is a great point. 

Claude, Yes. You can't say yours truly^ as you 
do in a letter. 

Maoj, Or, farewell^ forever! 

Roland, Or, I tear myself away with pain, as you 
do at an evening party. 

Max (rising). Oh^ that's easy enough. (As if ad- 
dressing an audience.) I will conclude these few re- 
marks, by proposing three cheers for the stars and 
stripes ! 

Frank (rising). Fearing to exhaust your patience, I 
will now bid you a final farewell. 

Claude, Mercy on us, Frank, that is too touching. 
Final farewell! That would never do. (Rising.) 
Thanking you all for your patient attention, I will now 
— now — (commencing again). Hoping we may all 
meet upon some future occasion, I will — will (des- 
perately). Stars and stripes! American eagle! 
Three cheers ! 

Julius (rising). Trusting that I have repaid you for 
your patient indulgence — 

Frank, That's modest ! 

Julius (rapidly and without punctuation, as before). 
I will conclude these remarks by expressing the hope 
that no cloud will ever dim the sun of our nation's 
prosperity no war desolate her borders no turmoils dis- 
turb her peaceful tranquillity no invasion threaten no 
thunder roll over her head that with untrammeled feet 



156 THE FOURTH OF JULY ORATION 

she may march through the paths of futurity her head 
proudly erect her weapons glittering her robes grace- 
fully floating in the breeze of liberty to soar ever up- 
ward and onward borne aloft by the patriotism of her 
sons spurred to future conquests by the loveliness of 
her daughters stimulated by the memory of the past 
boiling over with the glories of the present to make 
in the future a still greater — 

Frank {rushing at Julius), Stop! 

Claude {putting his hand over Julius' mouth). You 
will never get done at this rate. 

Julius {struggling) , A still greater commotion — 

Max {holding Julius), Your arms will drop off if 
you swing them in that way much longer. 

Roland, Don't interrupt the speaker ! 

Julius {shaking himself free). You fellows laugh if 
one stumbles^ and stop him if he goes on. 

Roland {rising and speaking slowly, as before), I 
will close, fellow citizens, with the hope that the rush- 
ing waters of our nation's patriotism may never break 
the confines of peace. 

{All speaking at once with dramatic emphasis, and 
great gesticulation) . 

Frank, Fellow citizens, I rise before you — 

Claude. Fellow patriots, I am conscious of my 
own — 

Max. Ladies and gentlemen, I will tax your — 

Julius, Gentlemen, feeling as I do the deficien- 
cies — 

Roland. The great American eagle, soaring — 

Frank {hammering on the table). Order! order! 
{Dead silence.) 

Max, Let's each write an oration, and give Frank 
his choice for his Fourth of July effort. 

{All seize pencils and paper, and write,) 



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